


The World Starts Here

by bafflinghaze



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Aurors, Azkaban, Draco Malfoy centric, Friendship, M/M, Ministry Corruption, Money, Partially a case fic, Press and Tabloids, Rated PG for occasional language, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Rich Draco Malfoy, Slow Build, The poor are poor because they don’t have money, mostly preslash, werewolf rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-07-08 11:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 63,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15929276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bafflinghaze/pseuds/bafflinghaze
Summary: Three years in Azkaban is more than enough time for Draco to be certain that he doesn’t want to be like his parents. And the moment he gets out, Draco will make hisownmark on the world and he’d do it single-handedly if necessary.What he didn’t account for were the friends and allies he would gather along the way, and the world they would change, together.





	1. Chapter 1

Azkaban was a dark and noisy place.

The dementors were gone by the time Draco was imprisoned there, after the War—the dementors were on the Dark Lord’s side, and hence couldn’t be trusted to keep the Dark Lord’s lackeys in perpetual nightmare. Draco suspected there was also lobbying by certain War heroes.

But the chill of the dementors remained, soaked into the stones. The cells were dark but for the weak rays of light through tiny holes in the wall and the occasional _lumos_ from a guard. The air was dank, and the ground was mucky, and there was a constant whistling wind. The prisoners lost their minds, screeching at each other like dogs as they succumbed to their delusions. The guards encouraged the verbal abuse, throwing in their own for good measure.

Draco’s own father was in the cell next to him. Draco couldn’t see him, but he could hear him beneath the rabble: Lucius muttered plots and plans for when he would leave Azkaban. Draco hoped that the guards didn’t hear them. At rare times, Lucius told Draco how much he loved Draco and Narcissa and how he would do anything to protect them.

Those times became increasingly scarce.

At first, Draco listened. He listened to the shouting of the other prisoners, of their hatreds and their life stories. He listened to the plots and plans of his father, of how his father wanted to rebuild the family name. He treasured his father’s rare words of affection.

But as the days and months passed, he started to think for himself. As his occluding got better out of sheer necessity, the dementor-chill faded from his mind. He had the ability and time to think clearly. He broke down the hatred, the life stories, the plots and the plans.

That was when Draco realised that he didn’t want to be like _them_. He didn’t want to make the same mistakes. He didn’t want make the same old tired mark on the world.

And so, Draco made his own plans.

:::

Draco was released after three years. Without Harry Potter’s testimony, it would have been thirty.

When the guards came by, the shouts of the other prisoners increased, and the guards heckled them back. When the guards open Draco’s cell, the others were in uproar. Draco ignored them, complacently obeying his orders. Under his occluding, there wasn’t much emotion he could muster up. There was only the facts: and the fact was that he was getting out first. With his hands magically tied behind his back, he stepped out of his cell.

Draco glanced back to his father, the first time in years. Lucius was huddled against the wall, in his plots-and-plans mode, and his eyes gleamed at Draco as though expecting Draco to enact his plans for him. _T_ _his_ would be Draco’s last memory of his father for the next decade. Draco blinked back, and identified that it was disappointment he was feeling.

The guards wasted no time in taking up the stairs and out into the overcast light of outside. The boat trip back to land, and the apparation back to the Ministry, were undertaken in near silence. They took Draco to an interrogation room, and once Draco was safely tied up in the chair, the two guards left and two Aurors entered.

Neither were Harry Potter.

The Aurors drilled him, with a touch of threats that Draco should keep in line if he knew what was good for him. Draco nodded back, storing the information.

They locked a tracking anklet on his ankle and took him the Ministry floos. Draco flooed to Malfoy Manor.

There was barely any light when Draco emerged from the floo, aside from the last remaining rays of the evening. As he moved deeper inward, the automatic lighting spells struggled to activate, leaving Draco with patches of illumination.

Every room was empty. There were no signs of the living. All the servants and house-elves were gone.

His mother was not there.

Draco hadn’t expected that, and he leaned against a wall, forcing himself to adjust to that fact. His plans...he couldn’t start them yet while the Manor looked like _this_. He had assumed that his mother would have stayed. He had assumed that she would have returned the Manor to its former glory. But she hadn’t and it wasn’t. Malfoy Manor still looked like it did during War, and perhaps even worse so.

The occupation during the War had made Malfoy Manor dark and disordered as the Dark Lord changed it to his liking, and fifthy as his other followers messed around and took what they wished. After the War, the Ministry would have had accessed to the Manor, ostensibly to catch any remaining followers, free any remaining prisoners, collect the dead ones, and confiscate any remaining dark objects.

From the cursory glance that Draco could manage, the Manor was missing much more than that.

Draco took a deep breath. He would have to deal with that once he stopped feeling so light-headed though, and instead he staggered towards the kitchens.

The kitchens were relatively neat; the house-elves must have cleaned before they left, be it either freed by the Ministry or on their own accord with no one of Malfoy name left. There were foods in the pantry—he recognised rice and dried beans and flour. But Draco had neither the strength nor the knowledge to cook. Instead, he grabbed a jar of honey and a spoon for a quick energy boost. Thankfully, the taps still worked and Draco got a long drink of fresh water.

Feeling relatively better, Draco tracked down an old wand from a long-dead Malfoy and the most basic, childish cookery spell-book he could find to make something more substantial.

Which turned out to be rice, because all he needed to do was to boil it in some water and eat it with some salt. Stomach full, he took a shower and went to sleep in his old childhood bed.

:::

Draco woke up to sunlight. Draco stared at the ceiling, which he could see. It was a very novel thing. He allowed himself to feel the softness of the bed, even as all his plans sharpened in his mind.

His mother wasn’t here. He needed to fix Malfoy Manor first.

Draco showered, leaving the bathroom clean for the first time in years. He enlarged one of his old robes to wear, made some food, and then got down to work.

With the Malfoy Manor inventory tome beside him, along with a smattering of spellbooks, Draco methodically went room-by-room, cataloguing the missing items and cleaning up and fixing what he could along the way. At first, his progress was slow, but as he became more accustomed to the wand, to the spells and the motions, he picked up speed. Some entire rooms were left untouched, unspoiled by the War; others required much more extensive work. Draco was no interior-designer, but he had some eye for arrangement.

Going through the majority of the Manor took the better part of a fortnight, forcing Draco to re-calibrate the internal timeline he had for his plans. However, he acknowledged that it wasn’t all wasted: the time and work strengthened him physically and magically. He learnt of rooms he hadn’t known existed, of all the manner of objects and of ancestral portraits of the less savoury of Malfoy ancestors. He found well-kept robes from the last century that better fit his frame. He also found dark artefacts that the Ministry missed in their search—he placed those under wards, for now.

The Dark Lord’s wing was above ground, with some windows and sunlight. The space was relatively clean, but there was a heavy press of the Dark Lord’s magic that lingered, even now, dimming what sunlight Draco could coax through the windows.

Draco skimmed through curse-breaking tomes and decided that the most straightforward thing he could do was to take down the entire wing and re-build it from the ground up. He didn’t have any attachment to the space, and neither of his parents were there to stop him. He took the care to catalogue any remaining items and to isolate them for further dark-curse testing, before nullifying all the magic in the wing. The walls crumbled, and now there was a big hole in the wards. Draco vanished the fallen stone and was left with a very large expanse of empty floor.

What was the opposite of darkness? _Light_ , Draco thought. He acquired himself a stack of construction books and set about building the largest solarium he had ever seen, with glass walls that arched up to form the roof. He stained some of the glass, so that coloured light patterns the floor, and levitated some furniture from unused rooms to the space. The wards of the Manor were filled in, following the curve of the glass. He’d need a proper gardener in here, but for now, the space he had created was sufficient.

When he stepped back to see what he had done, he felt a lightness in his chest. He placed a hand over his chest, hoping that it wasn’t a curse. But when he cast some spells, it wasn’t anything physical. So he examined his mind instead, and found that the apparent lightness in his chest was an _emotion_. When he compared it to past emotions he had experienced, he determined that it was satisfaction.

“Oh,” he said.

There was no one there to react back to him, and this time Draco recognised the apparent pang in his heart. Loneliness. But it would do nothing to dwell on it. Draco pushed it back behind his occlumency and continued on.

With a dozen _lumos_ spheres, Draco entered the dungeons. The stink was immediate, though there were no corpses lying about. After the customary cataloguing, Draco set about determinedly blasting the cells apart until there was just one, open free space. The floors and walls and ceilings got a through cleaning, with the old air siphoned out. Draco spelled everything a pale cream, and cast innumerably many automatic lighting charms to brighten the space up. He left it empty, for now.

Much like how the Manor was empty of everyone but Draco.

:::

When Draco woke up the next day, he immediately knew that something was different. There was a scent in the air

The curtains were open, spilling in dawn light. When he sat up, he noticed the tray of breakfast on his bedside.

He cast cursory spells, but the smell of properly cooked food, and the sight of a fresh green apple, did him in and he ate. There were no immediate side effects, aside from fullness.

After dressing, Draco made his way through Malfoy Manor, unsure whether he could sense someone else’s magic or not. But when he arrived at the kitchens, he was certain.

There was a house-elf, who turned upon Draco’s arrival. Draco struggled to remember her name—Glicky, he thought.

“Young Master!” Glicky exclaimed.

Draco twisted his lips. “Glicky, what are you doing here?”

“The Manor is alive, sir.”

That answer wasn’t quite enough for Draco, whose mind was racing. “Weren’t you freed by the Ministry? The Aurors?”

Glicky shuffled her feet. “We were all given socks.”

“Why would you come _back_?”

Glicky clasped her hands together. “The Manor is alive. There is work to be done, here.”

“Work elsewhere is scarce?”

Glicky shook her head. “Most old families are absent. Not many wizards trust old-family elves like Glicky.”

Draco exhaled. “Very well, if you wish to stay, then by all means, stay.” He clenched his teeth, thinking hard. “Did Granger enact employment laws for house elves?”

Glickly looked down. “Yes. Wizards don’t want to pay elves as much as other wizards.”

Draco cringed inwardly. He had never learnt about the minimum wage for wizards when his father was teaching him about the family businesses. Unsurprisingly. Draco had to delay, until he could obtain information. “I shall set up your wages once I visit Gringotts, if you’ll note down your hours—you _can_ write, can’t you?”

Glicky brightened. “Oh, yes.”

Draco felt his mood lift in response in spite of himself. “Thank you for breakfast. However, where did you acquire the various ingredients from?” There certainly weren’t any of the fresh ingredients that made up his breakfast last he checked.

Glickly frowned quizzically. “Young Master does not know? We write an order and the grocery suppliers send them. The gold comes from a vault just for this.”

“Oh.” Draco wondered just how many vaults he and his family had.

“And Glicky picked apples from the orchard outside!”

“Very well,” Draco said. “I’ll leave you be.”

Glicky farewelled him, and Draco walked off in a slight daze. This was not part of his plans.

He had forgotten, whilst staying in a prison full of other humans, that there were more beings that the Malfoy family had messed over. And he had first assumed that his mother would had been here and dealt with all that. And then, when he found out that his mother and the house-elves weren’t here, that he had adjusted his plans to be self sufficient.

Draco forced down a thread of annoyance and sternly told himself to learn the lesson: do not assume, and make plans for all contingencies.

Glicky’s mention of the apple orchard led Draco to decide that he wanted to start fixing the Manor grounds. It was easy enough for him to clear the over-grown pathways but he would have to find gardening books before he touched anything else. Happily, he chanced upon the apples Glicky mentioned.

:::

Draco woke up the next day to yet another lovely breakfast. He remembered to write a little ‘thank you’ note to leave on the tray—something his father would _never_ do—before heading out to the gardens.

They had changed overnight.

The pavement had been brightened, the overgrown weeds in the gardens were gone, and the hedge rows have been trimmed. The book in Draco’s hand had been rendered useless.

Draco ventured further out, and when he reached the old farmlands, he saw his answer: a handful of house-elves were efficiently turning the land, plotting and planting.

He didn’t recognise them. They were _not_ Malfoy elves, and the Manor’s farmlands had never produced any produce in Draco’s lifetime. He knew that house-elves could get through all but the strongest of wards. But _why_ would they?

“Who are you?” Draco called out.

The elves squeaked and gasped, and one of them popped away.

“I was merely asking!”

At that, the elves relaxed. One of them apparated over to Draco.

“I is Pally,” the elf said.

“And you’re here?”

Pally nodded solemnly. “There is work to be done.”

“I haven’t negotiated a wage with you,” Draco said. “Write down your hours, and I’ll set up your income. Do you have a vault?”

Pally’s eyes widened. “Young Master, house-elves do not have gold vaults.”

“Right, of course, coin-in-hand, then. Tell the others, will you? For any house-elf that does work on a Malfoy property, tell them to write down their hours, so that I can distribute wages.”

Pally nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“And what is it that you’re planting?”

“Oh, many things, sir! There is beetroot and asparagus and strawberries first! And then—”

Draco listened as Pally reeled off a dozen more fruits and vegetables. “Very good,” Draco managed, once Pally was done. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Yes, sir!”

Pally apparated back out into the field.

Draco walked back to the Manor in a slight daze. He should have expected this, after seeing Glicky. The Manor and its grounds were huge. There _was_ work to be done, and it was a good thing that there are house-elves who want to do that work, who _kn_ _e_ _w_ how to do that work.

Glicky’s words came to forefront again—these house-elves out farming were likely to be from another old wizarding family whose members are ‘absent’. Draco strongly suspected that _more_ house-elves will be coming to the Manor, such that Draco’s input to fixing and upkeeping the Manor was no longer required.

Draco had gave his word about acquiring wages for the elves. It was high time for him leave the safety of Malfoy Manor and venture back into Wizarding society.

:::

:::

:::

Harry sighed, eyes unseeing the paperwork he knew, at the back of his mind, was in front of him.

“Mate, what’s up?” Ron asked from the next desk over. “Paperwork doing you in? A greater foe than Voldemort, paperwork is,” Ron continued in a wise tone.

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s been three years,” he finally admitted.

“Since what?”

“The War Trials,” Harry said simply.

“Ah.” Ron turned hesitant. “This is about Malfoy, isn’t it? I heard Cricke and Brown did all the post-release stuff with him.”

“I wonder what he’s doing now.” Harry thought guiltily of the hawthorne wand he still had stashed in his bedroom drawer. Now that Malfoy was out, he knew he should return it.

“Mate. He’s probably lazing around the house of his. It’s not like he’s going to get a _job_ or something. Can you imagine?” Ron laughed, shaking his head.

Harry huffed a short laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. And if he does anything bad, we’ll hear about, I suppose.”

“Let him be,” Ron said, serious. “He’s not worth it getting all worked up over. In fact, you should be focused on _your_ life, if you don’t want Eric from Records to hang you by your toes.”

Harry checked the time and cursed. Thoughts about Draco Malfoy temporarily fled his mind as he hurried to complete his paperwork.

 _Temporarily_ , as later that week, Harry found Auror Brown—some relation of Lavender Brown of which the specifics escaped Harry—having his tea in the break room alone. Brown was at the table, idly flicking through a newspaper, but he looked up when Harry entered.

“Hello,” Harry greeted, grabbing his own mug.

“Potter,” Brown nodded back.

Harry put the magic kettle on and leaned against the counter. “I heard you did Malfoy’s release.”

Brown had an expression of distaste. “Ugly mug, didn’t say much. Guess Azkaban took care of him.” Brown’s gaze sharpened on Harry. “Saw it in his file that you spoke for him.”

Harry gave an uncomfortable shrug. “Yeah. He wasn’t _all_ bad.”

Brown shook his head. “You’re still new, wet behind the ears. Just give it a few years, Potter, and you’ll see that certain people always are and always will be bad.”

Harry tried not to bristle. “Maybe,” he said non-committally. He turned back to the counter and made his tea.

“Well, I’m off,” Brown said, standing up. “Robards’ gotten us on surveillance duty.”

“Sounds boring,” Harry said, a little tense.

Brown smirked, and Harry relaxed somewhat.

“Got to get through the pain for the thrill,” Brown said. “See you around, Potter.” He clapped Harry on the shoulder and headed off.

Harry was left standing, alone, in the break room for a few more minutes while he gripped the counter.

_Ugly mug, didn’t say much. Guess Azkaban took care of him._

Brown’s words just bought more questions into Harry’s head. Harry _had_ spoken for Malfoy, and Harry hadn’t wanted Malfoy to go to Azkaban in the first place.

His mind conjured up images of a peculiar Malfoy-Sirius mix; haggard, thin, Malfoy with shaggy blond hair and a too-bright look in eye.

 _Ugly mug_.

Harry couldn’t imagine that part, though.

“Oh hey, Harry, there you are!” Ron said, interrupting Harry’s thoughts.

Harry blinked. “Ron, what’s up?”

Ron waved a file in his hand. “Robards’ gotten us an _actual_ assignment out.” He glanced at Harry’s tea. “Better drink that quick, because I want to get out of here.”

“Right.” Harry cast a charm to cool his tea and gulped it down in a manner worthy of Ron.

They headed back to their office to grab their proper Auror robes, and Harry pushed the Malfoy issue to the back of his mind again.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco wore cream-silver robes that matched his hair when he flooed to Diagon Alley. The crowd seemingly parted for him; he felt almost like one of the Manors white peacocks, amongst the drab brown and black robes of most Wizarding folk.

He went straight to Gringotts first, withdrawing a substantial sum, much to the goblins’ distaste. At the Ministry Press, he acquired papers and books on recent law changes, and at the Daily Prophet, he bought every possible issue he could stretching back the three years he was absent. All these, he shrunk and tucked away. He went to the owl emporium next and was able to acquire a white barn owl without too much fuss, whom he directed to fly back to Malfoy Manor without him.

All throughout, he was conscious of the eyes of others—more than once, he saw the flash of a camera. When one of them looked at him directly, he nodded to them in what he hoped was a pleasant manner.

The crowd of eyes that followed him thinned out when he headed towards Knockturn Alley. Stepping into Knockturn Alley was like entering another place entirely. The post-war prosperity of Diagon Alley was in stark in contrast with how _alley-like_ Knockturn Alley had become.

The wounds of past destruction remained, with jagged gaps in the facades and buildings. The air became colder—the sun did not seem to reach. Draco felt the weight of stagnant magic.

Here, the folks either avoided gazing at Draco, or monitored him from behind shop glass.

Here, the poor lingered. Barely after stepping into Knockturn Alley, Draco came across a person sitting against the door of an abandoned shop. The person lifted their head and uttered a “Have a good day.”

“Thank you, may you also have a good day,” Draco said perfunctorily, levitating a couple of galleons into their cup, which appeared to have a handful of sickles.

The person startled. “What is this for?”

“I’m not taking it back,” Draco said plainly. “You are lacking money, correct?”

The person rolled their eyes. “Is it that obvious?”

“I presume you won’t accept accommodation at Malfoy Manor.”

“ _Malfoy_? As in, _Death Eater Malfoy_?”

“There were two of us,” Draco pointed out. “My father and I.”

“I don’t have a death wish, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Draco nodded. “Have a good day.” Draco continued on down the alley.

None of the others Draco came across are nearly as chatty, which Draco theorised was due to the increasingly oppressive feel of deep Knockturn Alley. He gave each of them a couple of Galleons regardless. Lastly, he bought all the potion ingredients he required.

:::

Back at Malfoy Manor, Draco left the potion ingredients on the table in the dedicated potions laboratory, before going to his study—he would return to the fairly straightforward, menial steps of brewing later.

The white owl was waiting at his study’s desk. Draco rewarded it with an owl treat the house-elves had supplied.

“I’ll call you Matilda,” he decided.

The owl just looked at him.

Draco looked back, but there was no chance that he could win a staring contest with an owl, so he moved on to drafting a letter to his mother.

> _Dear Mother,_
> 
> _How are you? I hope this letter finds you well._
> 
> _I have recently returned to Malfoy Manor. The weather has been grey, but not rainy. I have seen nothing of Father’s peacocks. However, there are now elves on the old Malfoy farmland._
> 
> _My days have been filled with redecorating the Manor. I believe you would like the new solarium—it is a lovely place for lunch, as the plants and the stained glass make a bright place._
> 
> _All the best._
> 
> _Your son,_
> 
> _Draco._

Matilda was eager to take the letter, and immediately left the moment Draco tied it on.

Draco gave himself a moment to be maudlin, before pushing his mother and the lack of her presence to the back of his mind. Straightened in his chair, he unshrunk all the newspapers and books, took out a thick stack of clean parchment, a nice quill and ink, and got down to reading. He had a lot to catch up on, not least the Ministry regulations of house-elf wages.

:::

His owl returned the next day. His mother, who turned out to be in France, replied as immediately as one could expect given the flight time. She wanted _Draco_ to come live with _her_. Regrettably, Draco had to plainly reply that he was not _allowed_ to leave Britain for the next few years, and proposed a time for a floo-call, as to give his owl a break from flying back and forth across the Channel.

A few hours after his owl left, another owl arrived, bearing a letter with the Ministry seal. Draco quickly scanned the letter.

 _War reparations_.

He had learnt, after briefly looking through the Malfoy account books, that his mother had paid some War reparations on behalf of the Malfoy family, dated after Draco and Lucius had been sent to Azkaban.

But now the Ministry wanted more.

Draco placed the letter down and flexed his fingers. “Please wait while I write a reply,” he told the owl, which hooted and settled down.

Draco took out the Manor’s inventory books and wrote out all the items that he was fairly certain were taken by the Ministry—along with their associated value. He ended with a total bill that he would like deducted from the extra War reparations and sent the letter off.

It wasn’t that Draco was _adverse_ to giving the Ministry more gold. But he wondered where it would all go, given the existence of those living in Knockturn Alley.

:::

Draco’s floo flared. It _couldn’t_ be his mother—his owl couldn’t fly _that_ fast—and Draco hadn’t planned for any visitors, so it was with trepidation that Draco approached the floo, hoping it wasn’t Aurors taking offence to his reply.

It was Pansy. Draco had a fraction of a second shift his mind into conversational mode before—

“Draco Lucius Malfoy!” she said accusingly. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier that you’re out of Azkaban?”

“Nice to see you too, Pansy,” Draco said. “I assumed that you were on the Continent. Furthermore, I technically haven’t told you of my return yet.”

“I _was_ on the Continent. Your smarmy face is all over the wizarding papers,” Pansy retorted. She took something out of her pocket and enlarged it—her trunk. Pansy rolled her eyes. “As if I would let you live in this dusty old place by yourself.”

Draco allowed himself a smirk. Pansy would have expected it of him. “As it is, your usual suite is already prepared and awaiting your arrival.”

Pansy narrowed her eyes, and her focus shifted to her surroundings. Draco followed her gaze, looking over the pristine nature of the room (aside from his desk), of the new windows that stretched from floor to ceiling that filled the room with most of the English sunlight.

Pansy tossed her hair. “Very well, I expect my quarters to be fantastic then,” she said, a challenge in her voice.

Draco led her to her rooms. “The Manor was unable to receive guests before, hence I was unable to contact you earlier.” As he opened the door to her suite, he said, “These rooms are for you to do as you wish. And you have at your call any number of house-elves.”

Pansy’s eyebrows went up. “You’ve done a lot in a short time—in a hurry to get something done?”

Draco smiled slightly. “Wouldn’t you want to know?”

Pansy tapped him on the nose.

Draco recoiled a little.

Pansy gave him a brief speculative look, and then smirked. “Oh, I do. And you know very well that you’re going to tell me. But for now”—she sent her trunk in, making it open and unpack in one smooth motion—“I’ll see you at dinner.” She pushed him out and unceremoniously shut the door.

Draco took a deep breath. He felt a slow grin come across his face and a giddiness in his chest. _Happiness_ , he thought. It was good to have Pansy back.

:::

Draco eventually told Pansy some of his plans later at dinner, after he learnt that Pansy was a solictor. Then, he found out that Pansy had spent her afternoon converting her suite’s sitting room into a muggle gymnasium.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she said, eyes twinkling dangerously. “I was training on the Continent.”

Draco brightened when he realised one of his problems was just about to be solved. “Pansy, you are fantastic,” he said. “I have an entire basement that’s waiting to be filled, and you can even convert _that_ to a gymnasium if you wish.”

Pansy raised a sceptical eyebrow. “The dungeons?”

“ _Basement,_ ” Draco said firmly. “The Manor no longer has dungeons.”

“You _have_ been busy. Draco, you’ve waited three years—you don’t _have_ to do everything as fast as possible.”

Draco shook his head. “I have three years worth of work to catch up on. Whether or not you want to help is your choice, of course.”

Pansy put on a mock-betrayed look. “Of _course_ I’m helping.”

:::

Draco’s owl returned the next day, with his mother’s affirmative response. Draco gave Matilda a mouse, which she gobbled up.

“Are you up for another flight? To London, not France,” Draco added.

Matilda hooted, giving Draco a look.

“I assume there will be wards, but do you best, won’t you?”

Matilda hooted again, giving Draco the same condescending look. The side of Draco’s lips quirked up, and he gave her a short letter to deliver.

> _Dear Harry Potter,_
> 
> _Thank you for testifying for me during my War Trials. I am forever in your debt. If there is anything you may ever need of me, please do not hesitate to ask._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Draco L. Malfoy._

Draco didn’t hang around the Manor in anticipation for Harry Potter’s reply. Instead, he took the case of potions he had been working on and had finished just in time.

He apparated straight to Knockturn Alley in his distinctive white robes and immediately headed to the person who had talked to him the other day.

“Good morning,” he said as he cast a muffliato around them. “By what name should I call you?”

The person stood up. “Lisa,” she said, folding her arms. “What do you want?”

Lisa had distinctive scratches on her face and a certain haggard look.

“It’s a week before the full moon,” Draco said without preamble.

Lisa grimaced. “What do you _want_?” she repeated.

Draco sat the case on the air and opened it up, showing her the lines of bottles inside. “Wolfsbane. To be taken every day for a week preceding the full moon.”

“There’s a lot more than a week’s worth here,” Lisa’s eyes narrowed.

“You know others. Give these to them as well.”

“Why don’t you give it to them yourself, since you clearly found out about _me_?”

“I don’t have the time to do so. This amount is not enough.” Draco closed the case and pushed it into Lisa’s hands. “I have space and lands, for you and any others to run around in on the night.”

“I know how rich you are, thanks,” Lisa snorted. “How do I know these aren’t poison?”

Draco inclined his head. “You don’t. But I _can_ swear a vow that I brewed them to the best of my ability.”

Lisa waved a hand dismissively. “Got it. Alright, I’ll hand them out.”

Draco retrieved a small pouch of coins and placed on top of the case too. “For your aid. And remember my offer—it holds for anyone.”

“ _Why_ are you doing this? Why are you even _here_? I can smell the metal of your Ministry tracker,” Lisa added.

“I have debts to pay,” Draco said blandly. He took a step back. “I’ll see you again in a few days.” He waited just long enough for Lisa to utter her goodbye, and then swiftly made his way to the apothecary for more potion ingredients.

:::

By the time Draco returned to the Manor, his owl had also returned, empty clawed.

“No response?” Draco asked, redundantly. At least Potter received the letter. Draco dismissed Matilda and headed back to the potions laboratory.

He was organising all the ingredients in preparation when Pansy appeared, sweat still glistening across her shoulder blades and arms.

Pansy cleared her throat. “Draco. You went out without me.”

“No one attacked me,” Draco said without turning around. “Have you converted those galleons?”

“I’ll do it today,” Pansy said. She came over and leaned against the table. “What _are_ you brewing? I thought you’d finished.”

“I need more. While you’re out, see if you acquire all the abandoned properties on Knockturn Alley and—”

“Yes, I know,” Pansy cut in. Her gaze swept over Draco. “Wait, were you wearing _that_ when you went out? Ugh, don’t even answer that, clearly you were.”

Draco stepped away from the table and smoothed down his white robes. “What is the problem?”

“Surely you’re white enough. I’m calling Blaise,” she declared.

“By all means,” Draco said. “His usual suite is also prepared.”

Pansy smirked. “Very well.” She stalked off.

:::

When Draco entered the dining room for dinner, Pansy was already there, chatting away with Blaise.

“Did you come running the moment Pansy called?” Draco asked Blaise, in lieu of a greeting.

Blaise gave Draco an unimpressed look. “Those white robes are more horrible than Pansy had implied. It makes you look like a child.” He stepped out of his chair and picked at Draco’s robes. “Is this a 17th century cut? _Draco!_ ” He shook his head. “Modern fashion has moved on from lace and ruffles.”

“It makes me look striking. And entirely unlike my father.”

Blaise’s look turned speculative. “That, I can do.” He clapped his hands together. “We’ll have a fitting as soon as possible.”

“How gracious of you,” Draco said, his tone carefully free of sarcasm. “I will require some muggle pieces as well.”

“Post war fashion is a _fusion_ ,” Blaise drawled. “Muggle pieces are a _necessity_.”

“And I’m glad to have you to steer me clear of fashion faux-pas,” Draco said response, raising one eyebrow.

Pansy hexed them both. “It’s dinner time, boys.” She clapped her hands and food appeared.

“Of course, apologies,” Draco infused contriteness into his tone as he took a seat next to her.

“Your word is our command,” Blaise added.

Pansy sniffed. “As it should be.”

Draco glanced at his two friends and nursed an inward smile. He hadn’t realised how much he missed them, or how big of a part they occupied in Draco’s life.

:::

:::

:::

After his encounter with Brown, Harry had been able to somewhat focus on his work since Robards sent him and Ron out on a few more assignments and had them do piles of Auror departmental paperwork.

But then, one morning, Draco Malfoy’s face appeared on every single paper Harry had delivered to his place, including the _Quibbler_.

 _So much for ignoring Malfoy_ , Harry thought. He cursed the fact that he needed to keep up with the news—as an Auror, he needed to be aware of current events.

He forced himself to glance over the photos _briefly_. Malfoy didn’t look ugly, like Brown had said. He looked more...gaunt, thin, sharp, and extremely pale and white.

Harry’s stomach dropped a little when he read that Malfoy went to Knockturn Alley—Harry couldn’t think of anything good there. But at the same time, he didn’t want to pre-emptively follow him. He wanted to give Malfoy the benefit of the doubt, especially since the _Quibbler_ had a picture of Malfoy smiling somewhat at the camera.

Harry paid attention to the papers in the following days, but Malfoy was not seen out in public again and so the papers turned onto other news, and Harry’s Malfoy-thoughts were push aside for the ridiculous amount of work Robards was giving him.

But then an owl came to him while he was relaxing at home, carrying a letter with the Malfoy crest. Harry instinctively checked for curses and spells, but found none. When he opened it, the letter was sparse. Harry remembered the hawthorn wand in his bedroom drawer and became guilty all over again. He _should_ write back. He _should_ return the wand. But…

Harry told the owl _no reply_ and proceeded to stew on the letter for days.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Lisa was waiting for him when Draco apparated into Knockturn Alley. She looked alert and more refreshed than before.

“Another batch,” Draco said, handing over the case. He had hidden a pouch of gold inside, not that he’d tell her.

“We’d need another two, later.”

Draco nodded. This was good news, insomuch as that Lisa had been able to contact a good many people. “How is your housing situation?”

Lisa snorted. “Even with your gold, any place on Knockturn Alley would charge me through the roof.”

“My offer for accommodation still stands,” he said. “Space, your own suite, and food. Malfoy Manor has more house-elves than tasks to do.”

Lisa gave him an unconvinced look. “Ah yes, this is the point in horror stories where I accept, only to be horribly tortured and killed in an extremely misogynistic way in the privacy of your home.”

“There are too many witnesses,” Draco pointed out. “The offer extends to anyone you know that might want it.”

Lisa’s eyes narrowed. “Ah yes, you’ll _first_ lull me into a sense of security, and let me invite all my _werewolf_ friends and _then_ you’ll dob us into the Ministry.”

“I could have done that already. But you’re still here.” Draco tried a different tack, “Would you prefer some muggle money?”

Lisa snorted, throwing a hand in the air. “Have you _seen_ me? No-one’s going to let me in.”

Draco exhaled. “My offer stands. I’ll be back in two days time with more potions.” He went to the apothecary, frowning, and not knowing what he needed to do to appear more trustworthy.

:::

Pansy dropped a set of files on Draco’s desk, right on top of the newspapers Draco had been trawling through.

“Properties on Knockturn. It was a pain to buy them outright,” she complained. “Some couldn’t sell their place fast enough, but a couple of them raised their price. They thought I was stupid.” Pansy snorted. “As though they were worth _that_ much—I didn’t buy _those_ , of course.”

“Maybe you should have flexed,” Draco suggested as he flipped through the files. “Some of these still look inhabitable. I shall organise a team of house-elves to start on some of these places.”

Pansy leaned in. “Step carefully, Draco. The Ministry is on your case. And some of the Knockturn folk aren’t happy with your portfolio.”

Draco gave her a measured look. “And you’re here to make sure I don’t do anything illegal.” He placed the files down. “How are the muggle properties coming along?”

“Slow down! I had to craft your existence in their systems _first_ ,” Pansy said with exasperation. “They don’t just let _anyone_ buy, unless you want some shady location in the muggle gang lands.”

Draco became pensive.

Pansy knocked on the table. “Focus, Draco. You can’t just go solving _their_ problems too. You can be a bleeding heart to them _later_.”

“I'll make some blood replenishing potions,” Draco deadpanned.

Pansy flicked him on the forehead.

“Pansy!” Despite himself, Draco shot her a wounded look.

“Go outside and get some fresh air. Between the potions lab and your study, you’re going to turn into a vampire soon.” She made to bodily pull him up—Draco quickly got up before she can do so and before she decided to bench press him.

Draco raised his arms, drawing attention to the pale pink robes Blaise had given him. “I prefer veela.”

“You lack the attractiveness of one,” Pansy deadpaned.

Draco drew his arms together and sulked.

Pansy smirked. “Come on, before you get the eyes of an inferi.”

Draco glanced at the files of properties. “I should put a team together first.”

“Even if you make them liveable, how are you going to get people to live there?”

Draco frowned and told Pansy of his recent conversations with Lisa.

“How about _you_ go and talk to them instead of me? Clearly my face is not innocent enough.”

Pansy snorted. “And my face is any better? We should send Blaise in.”

“That’s almost like coercion...” Draco said slowly.

“This Lisa seems level-headed enough to keep her head around Blaise. But Draco—you can’t _force_ them to do something they don’t want.” She dropped a hand on Draco’s shoulder and pushed him towards the door. “Now, you're getting some sun.”

“Then you’re going to help me,” Draco quickly added. “After all, you're delaying my plans.”

“Done,” Pansy said promptly. “And I’m already helping you _anyway._ Merlin knows why,” she muttered under her breath.

:::

Draco sent Blaise off to Knockturn Alley with the next batch of Wolfsbane and busied himself with teams of house-elves with a hand for clean-up and house renovation, as well as his personal stack of house design books. The house-elves were sent out to clean up first, while Draco decided which house designs were best.

It took Blaise a lot longer to return than Draco had calculated—lunch came and went without him.

Draco was back in the lab, brewing, when the wards alert him of the floo. Draco forced himself to complete the current step he was on before hurrying to the drawing room.

“Blaise—” Draco stopped when he saw the group of people emerging out of the floo after Blaise. Draco stepped forward. “Welcome, Lisa and friends—I presume—to my humble abode.”

“I stand by my word, rich boy,” Lisa shot back. The others with her tensed up.

Draco raised one shoulder in mimicry of a shrug. “Blaise, why don’t you show them to the Dawn wing?”

Blaise nodded. “Of course.”

Draco turned back to the motley group. “Meals are served in the dining room on the ground floor, but you are welcome to take your meals elsewhere. If you just call for assistance, a house-elf will attend to you. The Manor and grounds are mostly free—practice some common sense, and enjoy your stay.”

Blaise turned to the group, smiling. “Lovely. I told you he won’t bite. Draco doesn’t even bark. Come, the Dawn wing is _absolutely_ stunning—”

Draco let Blaise and the group pass. Draco smiled at them in what he hoped was a pleasant manner—he had been practising in front of his mirror. Truthfully, he didn’t need to be pleasant to get his plans into motion—he had people like Blaise to whom pleasantries came naturally. But Lucius was never a pleasant man, and that gave Draco reason to try better.

:::

After dinner (which the house-elves quite appreciated—the dining room didn’t look nearly as cavernous with more people), Draco settled into his seat by his private floo to receive a call from his mother.

Right on time, the yellow flames flickered green and Narcissa’s face appeared.

Draco breathed in. “Hello, Mother.”

“Darling. You look well.”

Draco smiled purposedfully. “Yes, I am. It’s a lot better here than where I was before.”

Narcissa’s eyes skittered away momentarily at the implication. “Are you eating properly, Draco? The Ministry had forced me to free all the house-elves, and I can’t bear the thought of you living in the Manor all by yourself.”

Draco gave a slight nod. “Some of the house-elves have returned. Of their free will,” Draco added, when Narcissa frowned. “They are being paid wages, as per Ministry law.”

Narcissa had a polite expression. “Yes, one must abide by the law.”

“And I’m not alone here,” Draco offered. “Pansy and Blaise are currently here. But Mother, how are you? How is France?”

“Ah. Good,” Narcissa said, and proceeded to tell him of her time around Southern France with very-extended family.

They exchanged polite conversation.

Draco still wished that Narcissa were with him. But at the same time, he realised the _freedom_ he had without her looking over his shoulder. From her repeated questioning of when Draco’s travel ban ended and what his plans were, she clearly still wanted him to join her there. But Britain, for all its faults, was Draco’s _home_. Draco tried to hint this, but Narcissa ignored it. Instead, she vaguely mentioned strategic charity donations and moved on.

At least she was well, which was much more than he could say for his father.

The floo call ended with Draco feeling nostalgic, but it also reaffirmed his resolve. Draco was not his father, and Draco was not his mother. He was going to make his mark on the world around him in his _own_ way.

:::

The night of the full moon was nice and clear. Dinner at the Manor that night had been held early, before the rise of the moon. Lisa and her group then made their own way to the wooded parts of the land afterwards, while Draco, Pansy and Blaise retired to Draco’s private lounge room with a selection of tisanes.

“The house-elves have been a-flutter, Blaise. They don’t know what to do with the clothes you keep giving them,” Draco said—he had found that out when he went to distribute their wages, coin-in-hand as promised.

Blaise waved his hand dismissively. “Wear them, obviously. You cannot have a drab looking staff, Draco, it _cannot_ do.”

“They think you’re trying to free them,” Draco said pointedly. “Go talk to them again.”

“Yes, sir,” Blaise rolled his eyes.

Pansy scoffed. “Are you really so bored of re-making Draco’s wardrobe?”

“He keeps wearing the _same_ pieces,” Blaise complained.

Draco clasped his hands together. “I believe in consistency. And I like these robes.”

Blaise was still unmoved. “You’re saying that you hate the rest, then.”

Pansy laughed as Draco huffed.

“Why don’t you re-outfit Pansy?” Draco tried to divert.

“I don’t wear male fashion designers,” Pansy replied archly.

“Then how about Lisa and—and the others? I’ll pay for them.”

Blaise finally looked at Draco with interest. “Pansy was right, you have become a bleeding heart.”

Draco took offence. “I’m no Gryffindor.”

Blaise smirked. “You’re _worse_ than a Gryffindor. Even Harry Potter only _funds_ a charity. _You're_ on the front lines.”

“ _You_ helped me get Lisa and others here. And what charity?

Blaise shrugged. “That I did. On _your_ word,” he added, smirking. “Potter’s with the War Orphans.”

“Are they going well?” Draco mused. “Are all the orphans been treated fairly?”

“If you’re asking about the Death-Eater orphans, most of them went with extended family. And with Potter overseeing, there hasn’t been any bad rumours,” Pansy said. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of _adopting_ some orphans?”

“I cannot look after _children_ ,” Draco shook his head. “But I’m sure some of the house-elves would much prefer to work with children.”

“They’ll have to go through Auror checks,” Pansy replied. “And since they’ll be technically employed by you, _you_ would need to go through an Auror check.”

“Ah. Azkaban doesn’t look good on my record, does it?”

Blaise and Pansy simultaneously rolled their eyes.

“You’ve almost become the _opposite_ of a drama-queen since Azkaban,” Blaise added.

“What happened there?” Pansy asked, eyes sharpening.

Draco opened his mouth, but no words came out. He felt stuck in this light conversational mode, where the precise details of his memories of Azkaban were distant.

Pansy touched his arm. “We don’t mean to pry.”

Draco gave a tiny shake of his head. “It wasn’t...it could have been _much_ worse,” he finally said. “There are no dementors. And I recovered from it.” Azkaban was monotonous, and there wasn’t much to remember, aside from the chill, the noise, and the words. He remembered that the words had gotten _graphic_ at times...but the bars separated everyone. He could tell Pansy and Blaise about what he heard, but he wasn’t prepared for it.

“We’re going to talk about this properly one day,” Pansy said.

Draco breathed. “I know. Later, when I’m prepared.”

Pansy nodded. “You don’t need to soften the details, Draco.”

Draco acknowledged her statement.

“Now for some light-hearted entertainment,” Blaise declared. “Wizarding Monopoly—you’ll love this, Pansy, since you’re literally buying properties on Knockturn Alley.”

:::

The werewolves, human again, were at breakfast the next morning, looking tired but positive. The house-elves had cooked a fortifying Full English breakfast and brewed many, many cups of tea and coffee.

“Are any of you good at potions?” Draco asked those at the table. “There is more Wolfsbane to be made for the next month.”

Lisa nudged at her companion. “Andrew is,” she offered.

Andrew shot her a sharp look. “I used to be good,” he said a little bitterly.

“There’s an entire potions lab that could be yours. I’ll show you how to make Wolfsbane, and how to test that it was made correctly. All the ingredients will be provided, naturally.”

As Draco talked, Andrew sighed and nodded. “Alright, I’ll give it a shot.”

“You’re suspiciously nice, Draco,” Lisa said.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Brewing takes time. Andrew, I’ll pay you fifteen Galleons per Wolfsbane potion. You can continue to stay here, or floo in from another location.”

Andrew’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” He minutely shook his head and now looked _more_ uncertain than before Draco made the monetary offer. “There has to be a catch.”

“Pay him twenty Galleons and he’ll take it,” Lisa cut in. “And pay _me_ five Galleons per case to distribute them _for_ you.”

Draco held out his hand and Lisa immediately shook it. Draco then shook Andrew’s hand.

“I’ll draw up the payment scheme immediately, and you can start familiarising yourself with the potions laboratory.” Draco looked at the others. “The house-elves would love if you all continued to stay here, but it’s ultimately your choice. Also, please do me a favour by asking Blaise to design some new clothes for you. He’ll bill them on me.”

“You don’t need to dictate my life too,” Blaise said, rolling his eyes. “However, it would be my pleasure to make you all more fashionable.”

Draco caught Lisa’s eye. “And don’t feel guilty. Rich boy, remember?”

Lisa smirked. “Blaise, why don’t you design some Renaissance-era robes for Draco? That way, he could swan around looking like one of the Medici’s.”

At that, Blaise laughed. “Perhaps I should.”

:::

Over the next few days, those who decided to stay at Malfoy Manor settled in; some of them were busy doing some tasks Draco needed doing, and some of them had their own tasks.

With all of them therefore occupied, Draco was able to head to the Ministry for his first monthly Auror questioning without telling anyone.

White hair, white robes, a _Malfoy_ , Draco knew he was making an impression as he entered into the Ministry Atrium. The crowds parted and stared as he made his way down to the Auror offices on Level 2.

At the Auror Department's reception, Draco was directed to an interrogation room. He had been sitting there, alone, for a couple of minutes, before the Aurors showed up.

Draco recovered from surprise as quickly as possible. They were not the two Aurors that questioned him when he was first released from Azkaban. Rather, it was _Potter and Weasley_.

Weasley gave Draco a somewhat annoyed look. Interestingly, Weasley gave _Potter_ an exasperated look. Potter didn’t quite meet Draco’s eye initially, and it was only when the two settled on the chairs on the opposite side of the table that Potter looked at him.

Draco took a breath and decided on a calm, conversational mode.

“Potter, Weasley, good morning,” Draco said genially.

“That’s _Auror_ Weasley to you,” Weasley folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.

“This parole session is recorded and everything you say will be on file,” Potter intoned.

Draco knew this and smiled complacently. “Will everything you say also be on file?”

Weasley bristled. “Yes, it is.”

Potter jabbed Weasley on the side and they shared a look. Potter glanced at his files. “You have been frequently visiting Knockturn Alley since your release,” Potter said, his voice pitched low.

“I have.”

Weasley leaned forward. “On what purpose? Anything _legal_ you can get on Knockturn Alley can be found on Diagon and Horizont.”

Draco shrugged one shoulder in a casual move. “Can you imagine me shopping on Diagon Alley?”

Potter frowned. His voice sounded tired when he asked, “Shopping for what, Malfoy?”

“Potion ingredients,” Draco said easily. “If you remember, I was a fair hand at Potions during Hogwarts. I must fill up my spare time somehow.”

Weasley rolled his eyes. “Of course, getting a job is beneath you,” he muttered.

“And what are you doing around Wiltshire?” Potter continued.

“My home is there.”

“According to your tracking anklet, you wander at least a few miles from the location of Malfoy Manor.”

“Malfoy Manor sits on the Malfoy estate. As you can imagine, it’s quite a _large_ estate to manage.”

Weasley snorted. “Yes, you’re rich, we got that.”

Draco nodded. “If I may inquire—the Ministry recently sent me a request for more war reparations. Are you organising that?” Draco addressed Potter, who was clearly the more reasonable one.

Potter flicked through his files again. “No, I haven’t heard about this...”

“I’m perfectly willing to pay more war reparations. In my last letter, I sent a bill detailing all the items that were taken from the Manor by the Ministry for deduction from the sum, and there has been no reply since.”

“The Ministry would have taken all the dark artefacts,” Weasley bristled. “And we’re _not_ reimbursing you for _those_.”

Draco took out a copy of the letter and bill he sent and slid it across the table.

Potter took it and slid it into his files. “We will investigate this further.”

Weasley glanced at a watch on his wrist and pulled out a sheet of parchment. “Fine. Have you been a law-abiding citizen since your release?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any plans to break the law?” Weasley continued, scribbling something down on the parchment in front of him.

“No.”

“Do you have any plans to aid anyone else to break the law?”

“No.”

Weasley looked up again. “We’ll be watching your actions, Malfoy.”

“As expected.”

Weasley and Potter stood. “That concludes the session,” Weasley said.

“Let me escort you out of the Ministry,” Potter offered, handing Weasley the files. “Go ahead, Ron.” He ignored Weasley sudden sharp look.

Draco nodded. “How kind of you.” Draco stood up, but it seemed Potter made no move to leave.

:::

:::

:::

It was true that Harry had—accidentally—gotten Malfoy’s parole responsibilities transferred from Cricke and Brown to himself and Ron. Robards had caught him looking at Malfoy’s file, and clearly thought that Harry wasn’t busy enough with all his assigned Auror work.

Ron had been really, _really_ annoyed at Harry, until Harry promised repeatedly that Harry’d take the bulk of the monitoring work.

The up-side, if there were any, was that Harry could now look at Malfoy’s file on Ministry time. Harry already knew all of the pre-Azkaban material on Malfoy, so he only skimmed over them. There was a sparse report on Malfoy’s stay in Azkaban, which frustratingly gave Malfoy’s start and end dates and not much else in-between. Malfoy’s release forms were there, including the transcription, and Harry noted that Malfoy barely spoke. Cricke and Brown had added in some of the recent newspaper articles, and there was an unfinished paper on Malfoy’s possible dealings in Knockturn.

Part of Malfoy’s file was Malfoy’s tracker map that was kept updated with Malfoy’s location. Harry kept an eye on it, his stomach rolling as he wondered what exactly Malfoy was doing.

Malfoy’s upcoming parole meeting had Harry tense, unsure of how he would act. At least Ron was now just exasparated at Harry, rather than annoyed.

During the parole meeting itself, Harry was mostly successful at not staring at Malfoy. He asked reasonable questions and Ron asked questions and Malfoy answered and it was all civilised.

But when Ron left, it was just Harry and Malfoy in the interrogation room, and Harry couldn’t quite help himself. He expected Malfoy’s appearance to be as it was. However, hearing his voice—the sound of it, the pitch of it, the tone of it—clashed with Harry’s memories and was doing his head in. It didn’t help that Malfoy’s letter, and Harry’s non-response, was stuck in his mind.

Malfoy stood up, and Harry tried to shake off what ever it was in his head, but he couldn’t quite do so. He couldn’t quite leave the room, and he suddenly realised, when Malfoy looked at him, that he was blocking Malfoy from exiting too.

“I got your letter,” Harry blurted.

“Thank you,” Malfoy said, his voice suddenly solemn and serious, unlike the conversational tone he had used during the interrogation. “I would still be in Azkaban for years more. I _am_ in your debt.”

“You didn’t lie, did you?”

“No. You have my word that I did not.”

Harry couldn’t see any signs of lying. Malfoy seemed sincere, directly meeting Harry’s eyes.

“You’re not _only_ buying Potion ingredients on Knockturn, are you?”

The side of Malfoy’s lips quirked up. “I have also talked to some of the residents. If you investigate me further, you may find that Pansy has acquired a number of properties along Knockturn Alley under my name.” He regarded Harry with startling grey eyes. “I’m _not_ going to waste your testimony. I assure you.”

Harry sucked in a breath and nodded jerkily. Malfoy seemed _decent_ , and guilt tightened Harry’s throat. “Alright,” Harry forced out.

They looked at each other, and the moment stretched out.

“I—” Harry started.

“Would—” Malfoy began at the same time.

Harry bit his lip. “You go first.”

“No, you should,” Malfoy returned.

Harry grinned a little. “Are we doing _this_?”

Malfoy’s lips curved up just a little. “The British do as the British do.”

Harry huffed a laugh. “I just wanted to ask you if we could meet again—outside the Ministry. I have something to give to you.” He said this all quickly, before his nerves could stop him. “What were you going to say?”

Malfoy looked taken aback. “I was inviting you out to the Manor for afternoon tea. Or another location, if you prefer.” Malfoy inclined his head. “You could use it as an in-promptu investigation.”

“I wouldn’t!” Harry retorts, a little hurt at the implication about his integrity as an Auror and as a person.

“Ah. I would show you around regardless. It’s different now.”

“Oh.” Harry thought about his schedule for a moment—though to be honest, there wasn’t not much. “I work all weekdays, so the earliest I could come is on Saturday.”

“Then, 3.30pm,” Malfoy suggested. “Do you have any food restrictions? I’ll owl you further details, like the dress code—”

Harry looked at Malfoy in horror. “ _Dress code_?”

“A proper afternoon tea has a dress code,” Malfoy said, sounding absolutely serious. “I can send Blaise Zabini over if you require assistance.”

“Did he help you with that?” Harry motioned of Malfoy’s robes. “They make you look...like one of those angels in popular muggle media.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “He did. What is an angel?”

Harry rubbed his eyes. “No, let’s just forget that I said that. I don’t need Zabini over.”

“Very well.”

With nothing more to delay with, Harry finally stepped out of the interrogation room and escorted Malfoy to the floos.

“I shall see you soon,” Malfoy said.

“Yeah,” Harry acknowledged.

Malfoy nodded and flooed away.

Harry exhaled, feeling better. He frowned a little at the other Ministry workers staring at him, and quickly strode back to his office.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Draco had returned from his interrogation motivated and had gone right into dealing with all the properties Pansy had acquired for him. As for any other feelings that meeting Potter and Weasley invoked, Draco put them away to be dealt with at much later time.

Some of the properties Pansy had bought were the ones with the broken facades and war damage Draco had seen on previous trips down Knockturn; a handful were in sufficiently good condition that the main structures could be kept. However, Draco was most pleased with the three properties that were right next to each other. Each by themselves were skinny things, albeit with magically expanded space inside. However, together, they would make a decent wide-fronted building.

The house plans had already been drawn up, and through Pansy, Draco had ordered the raw building materials from a couple of muggle companies. It took the better part of the week to go and retrieve the materials—there was wrangling to apparate all the materials back to Malfoy Manor, with a dash of obliviation and illusion charms to divert the muggles’ attention away from their method of goods transportation.

At end of the work week, Draco finally headed down to the Malfoy kitchens, where the house-elves tended to congregate.

Draco was taken aback. The kitchen was _full_ of elves, all chatting and bustling around. The wage system he had set up was automatic, so he hadn’t had to look at who was under employ. Ruthlessly, he crushed his initial automatic reaction at the idea of paying so many house-elves, and he reminded himself that this was the _point_.

Draco straightened. “Hello.”

The elves all turned their wide eyes to him. “Master Draco!” some of them greeted.

“Are any elves free and would like to do some construction work? There are a number of properties to be renovated and a new building to be made. After that is done, I will need a staff to maintain those properties as well.”

Immediately, a contingency of elves detached from the main group.

“We are good builders,” one of the elves proclaimed.

“Very well. Apparate us to Knockturn Alley,” Draco commanded.

In a blink, they were on location. Draco led the elves to the three-consecutive houses. First, Draco unlocked all the wards and charms. With the help of elves, they shrunk the entire set of three buildings until they sat on the palm of Draco’s hand.

With the main plan laid out, the majority of the elves were set to work constructing the main shell of the apartment building Draco had in mind. Once they had started to Draco’s satisfaction, Draco took the remaining elves to renovate some of the more intact properties.

Draco was just about to head to Gringotts to withdraw more money when one of the Knockturn shopkeepers confronted him.

“Malfoy!” the shopkeeper shouted. He owned a grocery on Knockturn—and a poorly stocked one, at that.

Draco relaxed back his shoulders. “Afternoon, Mr. Wright.”

“What have you done?” Wright threw his arm out, pointing at the big construction.

“The land is mine to do as I wish upon it,” Draco said. “Do you prefer the run-down properties there beforehand? I have them, right here.” Draco took out the miniaturised houses.

Wright’s eyes widened. “The moment you got out of Azkaban, you started _lording_ around here. It’s the post-War world, Malfoy, and no one wants the likes of _you_ around here. You’ve been chasing away my customers.”

“And how have I been doing that?” Draco said, trying not to sound sarcastic, even though he was, deep inside.

“I’ve _seen_ you giving money out to those poor suckers on the streets. Make ‘em think they could go elsewhere for their food. Saw the Zabini spawn take off with a bunch of them too, and I bet that was _your_ doing.”

At that, Draco smiled. “Astute observations. But again, I am within the parameters of the law. Now, if you excuse me, I must be off. Good day, Mr. Wright.” Draco bowed and disapparated to Wright’s annoyed face.

:::

Draco called a quick meeting with Lisa right before dinner.

“You called, boss?” Lisa snarked, sitting right on Draco’s desk.

Draco raised one eyebrow. “You’re getting comfortable.”

Lisa shrugged. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? What do you want now? You _never_ make social calls.”

“How are you and the others finding the Manor?” Draco took out the files of the properties that had already been cleaned up and renovated. “There _are_ other Malfoy properties scattered across the British Isles and beyond. However, I have come in possession of these properties down Knockturn, if you rather live somewhere else.”

“You want us out,” Lisa said flatly.

“No,” Draco said firmly. “Your continued stay is necessary for the sanity of the house-elves. However, I recall that you found Malfoy Manor a little too isolated. These properties”—Draco pushed the files a little closer to Lisa—“are among many others on Knockturn Alley that the house-elves are currently transforming into liveable space.”

Lisa’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying that, what, I should pick my favourite one?”

“I will lease it to you, rent-free,” Draco said.

“And what, give a one hundred percent rent increase per month?” Lisa shot back.

Draco smirked just a little. “A one hundred percent increase of zero is still zero. Take a look at them.”

Lisa sighed and picked up the files half-heartedly. After a minute, she put the files back down again. “To be honest, I wouldn’t choose to live on Knockturn. It’s not...”

Draco straightened up. “Yes? Where would you prefer to live?”

“Somewhere nice.” Lisa shrugged. “ _Other_ wizarding and mixed wizarding-muggle areas are preferred by the vast majority of people.”

“And by _you_?”

Lisa shrugged again. “I guess.”

Draco collected the property files. “Very well. We will go house-hunting. I’ll have Pansy retrieve housing advertisements and we can visit your favourite properties next week.”

“Not tomorrow? I’m surprised.”

“I beg your pardon?” Draco gave Lisa an unimpressed look.

“You’re normally so impatient. I thought you would have dragged me about tomorrow—oh, tomorrow’s _Saturday_ , isn’t it?” Lisa smirked. “You said Harry Potter’s coming around.”

“Precisely,” Draco replied. “And I understand many muggles do not work Sundays for some unknown reason.” Draco stood up. “Time for dinner.”

Lisa hopped off the desk. “Fine.”

:::

On Saturday, the house-elves were in a big kerfuffle, getting Manor ready for the Great Harry Potter’s arrival. Meanwhile, Draco waited idly in the drawing room, steadily going through his backlog of newspapers.

At 3.20pm, Harry Potter tumbled out of the floo, dressed in admittedly sufficiently formal muted blue robes.

Draco waited for Potter to straighten himself before greeting him. “Potter, lovely for you to have made it. Everyone wants to meet you.”

Potter’s eyes widened. “Everyone? How many is everyone? You made it sound like there were only you...”

“The house-elves, as it turns out, are anxiously waiting.”

Potter relaxed a fraction. “Alright, house-elves, I can do. Before that though, I wanted to get something out of the way.” He pulled out a slim box and held it out. “This is yours.”

Draco’s heart almost stopped. He hadn’t factored that _this_ might happen.

Potter came half a step closer, almost pushing the box into Draco’s hands.

Draco firmed his jaw and accepted the box, opening it. Inside was his old hawthorn wand.

“I thought you might want it back, now,” Potter said.

“I’ve been using another wand,” Draco said distantly. He picked up the hawthorn wand and gave it a swirl. Disappointment was heavy when the wand barely responded. With a sigh, Draco put the wand back in the box and tucked the box away in his robes. “I must be too-different a person now. But thank you.”

Potter cringed. “Shit, I didn’t think.”

Draco put on a smile. “No matter, Potter. Now come, we mustn’t dally. We have many people who want to meet you.”

Potter kept silent as Draco led him through the Manor, on a direct course to the kitchens. Draco could hear its occupants down the corridor.

However, the moment the elves saw Potter, they fell into a hush. Draco give Potter a nudge.

“Elves, this is Harry Potter,” Draco prompted.

Potter shifted on his feet and gave a smile. “Hullo. I hear you’re all doing good work.”

Draco didn’t realise it was possible for the elves to be in even _more_ awe of Potter than before. Their eyes had all widened, and some of them sniffed.

“ _Good work_ ,” a few whispered reverently.

“Why don’t you shake hands and tell Harry Potter your names? Orderly, of course,” Draco said.

Potter shot Draco a wide-eyed look, but Draco knew that Potter wouldn’t dream of disappointing them.

Draco stood back and watched as Potter leaned down and shook hands with all the elves, reintroducing himself each time for each elf. Once the last elf had introduced themselves, Draco spoke up again.

“That was lovely, wasn’t it?” he said. “We will have a walk around the gardens first, and take afternoon tea in the solarium. Come, Potter.”

Potter gave one last wave to the elves before following Draco out.

“You’ve made them like me even _more_ ,” Potter complained, despite the grin on his face.

Draco gave him a look. “Ah yes, having loyal elves is such a terrible curse.”

“They were more respectful than people, at least,” Potter said.

Draco shot Potter another look, but Potter was looking around as they walked.

“It looks different from what I remember,” Potter said softly. When he saw the gardens, he inhaled. “ _Really_ different. I don’t remember this.”

“Aside from the fact that you never _went_ to the gardens, I, and the house-elves especially, have worked hard to fixing the Manor up.”

Potter turned to him. “I was wondering about that. All house-elves were freed after the War trials.”

“There was work to be done, and so they came back,” Draco said simply.

Potter nodded thoughtful. “I suppose so, with a big place like this. It’s nice.” He trailed a hand over the path-side leaves. “You don’t get _this_ in London. It’s quiet.”

They lapsed into silence, and Draco fell half a step behind Potter, letting him wander around the gardens at his own pace.

Eventually, they came back to Manor, and Draco took the lead, taking them to the solarium. Draco was pleased when Potter’s eyes widened.

“That’s a _lot_ of glass!” Potter gasped.

“There’s more than just _glass_ ,” Draco muttered. He nudged them towards the table and chairs to the side, where the afternoon tea was materialising.

As the host, Draco served them both tea.

“Tell me Potter, what have you been up to the last few years?” Draco questioned, once they both had their tea served and scones on their plates. Hazarding that Potter would appreciate it, he added, “Saving kneazles from trees?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Auror training, actually, only graduated last year.” Potter gave Draco a look. “And I saw those old _Daily Prophets_ you had.”

“You proved fairly elusive to them,” Draco pointed out. “In their parlance, I would prefer an _inside source_ , as it were.”

Potter’s eyeroll became even more dramatic. “Well, this and that,” he said shortly. “What about you? What have _you_ been doing?”

“Well, this and that,” Draco countered, earning himself a sheepish grin from Potter.

“I looked up the reparations the Ministry wanted from you,” Potter said, apropos of nothing. He frowned at his scone. “The order came from the Minister’s Office, but not from Kingsley. And it looked as though it was going straight to the general Ministry vault, rather than the one set out for War Reparations.”

Draco nodded slowly.

Potter looked up at him again. “I filed the request paperwork properly, and any reparations _will_ go to the right place. The Ministry can’t force you, since Narcissa Malfoy had already paid the amounts stipulated in your trial, but it would be a show of good will if you comply.” Potter’s tone held a challenge.

Draco’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. As I said previously, I do not mind at all.” Potter’s entire _visit_ to the Manor was meant to be a show of good will on Draco’s part. And Potter seemed to forget that Draco _owed him_ , and by extension, owed whatever it was Potter deemed _good_.

They lapsed into silence. Draco felt a little peculiar watching Potter eat—Potter seemed to do it with great focus, as though the food would run away if he weren’t looking. Draco shivered inwardly at the feeling of almost-kinship. Azkaban had not fed Draco well, and the guards sometimes played in taking away food if one didn’t eat fast enough.

Draco pushed those thoughts away. He was _here_ , in a brightly lit solarium, with plentiful food. “If I cannot ask about you, then how about your friends? Granger and Weasley, how are they?” Draco said slowly.

Potter startled and swallowed hastily. “They’re fine, they finally got engaged a few weeks ago. Hermione’s working in the Minster’s Office, and Ron—well, you saw him.”

“That I did,” Draco acknowledged. “He was scowling at me and shooting looks at you.” Draco raised an eyebrow. “What was that for?”

Potter groaned. “He and Hermione both think I’m out to get you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Draco said. It felt like the truth. “I was meaning to ask—why are you and Weasley my parole Aurors?”

Potter looked away. “Robards caught me looking at your case file,” he mumbled.

“Old habits, then.” Draco leaned back in his chair. “Or perhaps I am too handsome, in a vampiric way, as I recall in one of the _Daily Prophet_ articles.”

“Oh, shut up,” Potter shot back. “You’re _much_ too pointy and thin to be handsome. Ugh, Malfoy, eat some more food.”

Draco smirked. “And here I thought _I_ was the host. I take it that the food is to your liking?”

“It’s not like _you_ cooked it though,” Potter narrowed his eyes, even as he reached for a small cake.

“Ah, but the elves would _love_ to hear your beaming review of it. They prepared it just for you.”

“Is that a threat?” Potter took a bite of his cake. “It’s good. I bet they all talk together about what food I like to eat.”

“You have house-elves? Even with Granger’s declarations?”

“Kreacher, the old Black elf, won’t leave Grimmauld Place. I was surprised how many house elves _you_ seem to have though. You said they came because of work. But you never had that many elves before.”

“Their appearances were not expected,” Draco admitted.

Potter looked interested, so Draco divulged in the sudden appearance of Glicky, and the un-orthodox migration of elves to Malfoy Manor there-after.

“Oh. I never thought about elves would do after,” Potter deflated. “The Ministry really likes boasting about growth in the human economy and human employment statistics, but there isn’t much else.”

“Potter, stop feeling down about it. You work as an Auror, chasing bad folk and protecting good folk. You help run a charity in your spare time. You can’t think up of _everything_.”

Potter’s deflated expression didn’t leave. “But even Hermione didn’t...or she didn’t mention it to me.”

Draco said nothing to that, given that he really did not know Granger sufficiently to understand her thought processes. Silently, they finished their afternoon tea.

Potter left with an agreement to meet again, though neither made any actual plans. Draco did not mind. With the wand in his pocket, and the more successful conversation parts that had passed between them, he knew that Potter was friendly and helpful, and would therefore be a valuable ally in Draco’s plans—Potter’s friendship would be unnecessary, and therefore it was unnecessary for Draco to meet with Potter more often. In any case, Draco had more tangible work to be done than the wisps of potential friendship between him and Potter.

:::

On Monday morning, just as Draco promised, he and Lisa went muggle-property hunting, along with one of Lisa’s close friends, Kelly, one of the people who was going to live with Lisa, and with Pansy, who had organised the house-viewing appointments.

Blaise had made him a white muggle clothing set called a ‘suit’, and Draco could _tell_ that the other three were laughing inside when they saw him.

“Please understand that I feel very naked without robes,” Draco said dryly.

Pansy smirked. “You do _not_ look a rich business person. I suppose we’ll have you play the eccentric rich-boy.”

“He was _made_ for that role,” Lisa said, smirking.

Kelly, beside her, laughed into her hand.

Draco allowed them all a few more moments to admire him, before prompting Pansy to take them to their first appointment.

He was secretly glad that Lisa preferred the properties outside of central London, where the air was much nicer and houses were much more reasonably sized.

They looked at a number of properties managed by different agents, and whilst Draco pretended to understand all the features they mentioned, the others properly conversed with the agents and looked around. But again, Draco was mostly there to provide the money.

They took a break for lunch at a muggle eating establishment in which it turned out that Draco was ridiculously overdressed for. “Fried chicken is a must-have in London,” Lisa had declared, and took them to a tiny little shop that had virtually no seating and made Draco eat _without_ a knife and fork.

Lisa and Kelly ended up liking a semi-detached near some parkland. Draco signed the contract to purchase the place, and he stepped aside to let Pansy talk further details with the agents.

The moment they got back to the Manor, Draco breathed in the beautiful fresh country air.

“Fantastic work, everyone. Pansy, please find a way for you to sign these things off on my behalf.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Admit it, the experience was good for you.”

“It wasn’t good for my _lungs_ , thank you so very much,” Draco shot back.

“ _Or_ you could have cast a Clear-air charm around yourself,” Pansy said.

“Ah. Flaunting the Statue of Secrecy?” Draco didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t thought of that.

Pansy snorted. “Stay in your little world then. I could set up a company for you, and put myself as your top manager.”

“I would know more about business if I hadn’t spent the last few years away from home,” Draco pointed out. “I’ll be off to my study now.”

To his surprise, Lisa followed him.

“Surely you’ve spent enough time with me today,” Draco said dryly as he poured himself a good cup of tea.

Lisa crossed her arms. “I may call you a rich boy, but most rich boys are jerks.”

“I’m very much despicable,” Draco said, voice dry as ever despite his tea.

“I’m very grateful for your help, but I now owe you a debt.”

“And I said there were no stipulations.”

Lisa’s expression became stern. “Leaving the issue of the monetary debt _aside_ , I owe you a _life_ debt.”

Draco stilled. “Someone else would have helped you. Possibly even Potter.” He gave a shake of his head. “I didn’t save you from death.”

“You’re being hypothetical. _You_ helped me.”

“I was addressing a past wrong that I committed upon _you_ , either actively or due to _in_ action.”

Lisa’s jaw shifted as she frowned. “No. I owe you a life debt, whether you like it or not.”

Draco shifted tack. “I owe _Harry Potter_ a life debt, since it is due to him that I have been released from Azkaban. Therefore, I would transfer your debt to me to a debt to Potter.”

“But you didn’t _have_ to do the things you did,” Lisa said back, louder. “Why don’t you just accept it?! _I’m_ allowed to say that I owe you a life debt, because that’s how I _feel_ , and you can’t change that!”

Draco pressed his lips together. The irony of the situation didn’t escape him; it was obvious that Potter didn’t care nor wanted _Draco_ ’s life debt to him either. Finally, Draco said, “Then help someone else. Pay it forward.”

Lisa reluctantly nodded, but her firm expression remained. “Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I’ll update you on that,” she said, rather enigmatically. “I’ll see you at dinner.” She turned sharply and left.

Draco sat back into his chair and took another sip of his tea. He felt struck with the sudden feeling disconnect.

All the plans he had made, while _There_ , were breaking around him. The goal post kept moving as Draco encountered people and ideas he had never expected to. He hadn’t factored in the house-elves. He hadn’t factored in Pansy’s law credentials and muggle knowledge, nor Blaise’s propensity of make clothes for everyone.

He hadn’t factored in that there would be someone like Lisa. Who was a real, actual human.

Draco grimaced to himself. He had thought he could just swoop in and repay his debt by ‘saving’ people like Lisa. But she wasn’t some... _trophy_ Draco could collect. She was a person.

They were all beings, and that made everything much more complex.

Draco glanced at all the papers on his desk and sighed.

:::

:::

:::

“What’s Malfoy up to?” Head Auror Robards said from the door of Harry and Ron’s office.

“Sir?” Harry asked innocently.

Robards scowled. “Don’t take that attitude with me. He’s gotten the Minister’s Office on _my_ case about stuff we apparently ‘stole’ from him.”

“And did you _find_ any of those things?” Harry asked.

Robards’ scowl deepened. “It’s always like this with wealthy wizards, finding every tiny loophole they can to evade tax. I would have never though _you_ would aid him, Potter.”

Harry was unimpressed. “And I _won’t_. It’s not my fault that the Ministry allegedly stole from him three years ago, I wasn’t an Auror then, was I, Auror Robards?”

“I’ve got my eye on you too, Potter,” Robards snapped. He gave one last glare and stalked off.

Ron sighed. “Harry, did you _have_ to do that?”

“Malfoy _will_ pay up,” Harry insisted. “He said he would, multiple times.”

Ron shook his head. “You better hope Robards doesn’t find out that you had _afternoon tea_ with Malfoy, or else he’ll play the _conflict-of-interest_ card on you.”

“He could play that card _anyway_ , since I’d testified for Malfoy.” Harry gave Ron a look. “I met his house-elves.”

“I know, you told me. Have you gotten your report done? No point pissing Robards off even more,” Ron said. “And you’ll have to chase some of that stuff up for Malfoy.”

Harry grimaced. “Will you help me?”

Ron gave a long suffering sigh. “Unfortunately I will. But _after_ we get our reports done. And after you buy me some curry,” Ron added idly.

Harry grinned. “Alright.”

They did their write-ups, and after lunch at a local Indian buffet, Harry and Ron had a proper look over the items Malfoy had written down.

“I think I’ve heard of some of these,” Ron mused. “I’ll go grab some books, I think some of them are listed in there.”

“Listed?” Harry frowned. Some of the items had pompous names.

Ron gave a look of distaste. “Old pureblood artefacts and all. Mum has some books. I could probably ask Bill about this stuff too, see if anyone tried to hide it in their Gringotts vault.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll go find out who went to Malfoy Manor after the War.”

Ron grinned. “It’s plan.”

Ron left the Ministry to visit his mum and brother. Meanwhile, Harry went down to Filings to recover the general file on Malfoy Manor.

Harry opened the file and groaned when he saw all the papers. Not only had numerous Aurors gone to Malfoy Manor, but there were also various Ministry officials and external cursebreakers. A few names, Harry recognised—Robards, Dawlish and Proudfoot were among the Aurors, and there was Ergodan who worked in the Minister’s Office and frequently presented all the economy growth statistics, and Sarob who was another one of Gringotts’ cursebreakers that often came in as a consultant for the Auror department.

Harry groaned again. He couldn’t _just_ walk up to these people and _ask_ if they took items from Malfoy Manor.

But then again, Harry was an _Auror_ , and everyone on the list was now a suspect, and Robards himself had taught them to question everyone. Harry could just pin the blame on him.

Feeling reassured, Harry went to Robards’ office and knocked.

“What _now_ , Potter?” was Robards reply through the door.

Harry entered and squared his shoulders. He took out his parchment and pen, and started the voice recording. “Auror Robards, you are a suspect. What were you doing at Malfoy Manor three years ago?”

Robards’ eyes narrowed. “What are you playing at, Potter?”

“You are under suspicion of theft and accessory to theft,” Harry said boldly. “According to your records, you visited Malfoy Manor a number of times with various different people. It is therefore likely that many items went missing...under your watch.”

“We were removing all the damn dark artefacts!” Robards snapped. “That place was riddled with them, _of course_ it took multiple trips! Now get out of here, Potter.”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not done, Auror Robards.” He looked carefully at Robards. “Did you take any items which you did not suspect were dark?”

Robards’ eyes narrowed further. “No.”

“Did you take any items that were later deemed benign?”

“You’ll have to ask the cursebreakers who were with me,” Robards said flatly. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

“You’re right,” Harry said. “I’d schedule a proper interrogation along with my Auror partner.”

Robards’ drew his wand and cancelled Harry’s recording spell. “Get the fuck out, Potter. _Now_.” The door of his office opened behind Harry.

Harry capitulated. “I’ll send you a memo.”

“You _won’t_.”

Harry looked over his shoulder. “Should I let the Minister’s Office deal with this, then?”

Robards’ slammed the door closed in Harry’s face.

Harry straightened and rolled his eyes. He made his way back to his office, and found that both Ron and Bill were there.

Ron narrowed his eyes at Harry. “Harry, what have you done?”

“I tried to interrogate Auror Robards?” Harry nodded to Bill. “Hey, Bill.”

Bill nodded back. “Harry. Ron and I were just talking, and some of Malfoy’s things have definitely passed through Gringotts in the last few years, albeit under slightly different names, and likely some modification. Many of them with activated curses, which in retrospect, was likely due to their stolen nature.”

Harry nodded. “So can we get them back?”

Bill pursed his lips. “Some of the items had been bought from someone else.”

“Legally, the items still belong to Malfoy,” Harry pointed out, grimacing nonetheless.

Bill looked down at the list of items. “Yes, I know. Shall I advise them to sue whoever they bought them from?”

“It would be good if we had names,” Harry admitted. “That way we could charge for theft.”

Ron sighed. “I suddenly have the sinking suspicion that there had been looting of other Death Eater houses as well. And I _know_ , Harry,” he continued a little louder, “we’re Aurors and we’re supposed to be the good guys and fight crime equally.”

Bill’s eyebrows drew together. “Moving on, we need to crosscheck these items.” He gave both Harry and Ron a pointed look. “And that means first obtaining permission from the goblins.”

Harry and Ron both glanced at each other and grimaced. After the dragon debacle, the goblins didn’t really like Harry or Ron or Hermione very much.

Ron gave an almighty sigh. “Let’s just get this over and done with.”


	5. Chapter 5

 

An imposing Ministry owl was perched on the foot of Draco’s bed when he woke up. The window was open and the room was chilly.

Draco got up and spelled some robes from his wardrobe onto his body, casting a quick warming charm too. The owl held out its leg and Draco untied the message.

Without a sound, the owl took off and Draco opened the letter.

It was a summons to the Ministry, written from the desk of the Minister’s Office.

_The War Reparations_ , Draco thought. The meeting was at 8am, no exceptions. Draco grimaced and folded the letter back up. He had barely an hour to prepare, and he knew it was on purpose.

:::

When Draco arrived at the Ministry atrium, the two Aurors who had that had drilled him when he left Azkaban immediately flanked him. They herded him to an office, where a ministry official awaited.

“Draco Malfoy, a pleasure,” the official said, practically spitting out the word ‘Malfoy’. “Take a seat.”

“Secretary Kuffet,” Draco said, inclining his head. He sat down on an uncomfortable wooden chair by the front of the desk.

“Let’s be honest here, this is not a pleasantry call,” Kuffet said, scowling. He motioned to the side, and a number of boxes materialised. “We have done _you_ a favour in retrieving some of your _lost_ items.”

“Much appreciated,” Draco said politely. He glanced at the boxes and wondering how much of them was air and how much of them were the Manor’s lost items.

Kuffet slid a set of papers across the table to Draco. “And these are your reparation debts. Please deposit the money into the correct vault _post haste_ , or there will be repercussions.”

Draco glanced at the papers. They had crossed deducted out what they owed him—due to the items they’d ‘found’—but they had also increased the base sum. Draco also noted the vault to which he was supposed to pay...and it was the same one as the original notice, which Draco now knew was the Ministry’s general vault.

“This is not the correct vault,” Draco stated blandly. “I will pay War Reparations, not meaninglessly pad your pockets.”

Kuffet’s scowl deepened. “That is the correct vault!” he blustered.

“No. Do you mind if I call in a house-elf to take away those boxes?” When Kuffet’s mouth moved wordlessly, Draco called Glicky in to take the items back to the Manor for sorting. The moment Glicky disappeared, Draco stood. “If that is all, I will ensure that the correct amount will be paid rightfully.”

“We’re _watching_ you,” Kuffet finally spat out. “You’ve been buying properties all over Wizarding and Muggle London with your family money.”

Draco inwardly rolled his eyes. It wasn’t _all over_ London. He hadn’t gotten _that_ far yet.

“You’ve been in company of werewolves,” Kuffet continued.

“People of the Wizarding Britain,” Draco said idly. He took a step towards the door, and the two Aurors moved immediately, one of them blocking the door. He raised an eyebrow at them and turned back to Kuffet. “You have been monitoring me. However, this meeting was about the reparations. If you wish to interrogate me, please follow standard Ministry procedure.”

When Draco attempted to exit again, the Aurors forced him to bump into them, but nonetheless he was able to leave.

As he was in the Ministry anyway, Draco headed to the Auror Department.

“Name and purpose,” the receptionist said flatly.

“Draco Malfoy, to see Auror Potter.”

The receptionist barely blinked. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I have information for him.”

The receptionist sighed and sent off a flying memo. “Please wait.”

Barely a minute later, Potter emerged.

“Mafoy, what are you doing here?”

“I would like the details to the War Reparations vault,” Draco said promptly, handing him the updated notice.

“But how?” Potter’s eyebrows drew together. “I filed everything correctly...”

Draco shrugged. “The vault details, if you please.”

Potter quickly looked up again. “Right, sure. You don’t mind if I make a copy of this, do you?”

“Go right ahead.”

Potter cast a duplication charm and handed Draco the original. “Come on, I have the details written down somewhere in my office...” He headed in the offices, and without anything else to do, Draco followed him.

Weasley was in the office, and he frowned when he caught sight of Draco.

“What’s happening?” he said. “You do realise your next parole meeting isn’t for _weeks_.”

“They gave him another reparations charge,” Potter said, sending the duplicated papers flying to Weasley.

“That’s weird...” Weasley muttered. “We did a lot of work getting some of your stuff back, Malfoy.”

Draco looked at him more closely. “Did you? Kuffet implied that he had done it.”

“Yeah, no,” Weasley said flatly. “Me and Harry and Bill spent hours going through Gringotts vaults the other day.”

Draco inclined his head. “My thanks, then.”

Potter had gone round to his desk and started rummaging around. Finally, he drew out a rumpled set set of parchment. He flicked through it and duplicated out a couple of lines, which he gave to Draco.

“Those are it,” Potter said, shoulders relaxing.

The numbers were _definitely_ different. Draco folded the sheet and tucked it away. “Yet again, I am grateful to you.”

“It’s my job to help hapless citizens,” Potter said, a side of his mouth twitching into a grin.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Goodbye, Potter.”

“Wait!”

Draco turned back, a little surprised that Potter was suddenly _right there_.

“Did you want to meet up again? Strictly off-work?” Potter added. His hands twisted together. “Since you hosted that afternoon tea, I should do something...”

“We have plans on the weekend,” Weasley warned. “Hermione would kill you if you abandon them now.”

Draco nodded. “I will have an open office on Knockturn Alley starting tomorrow, if all goes to plan. I will be there til late night during the weekdays. Otherwise, send an owl for when you’re next free.”

“Alright.” Potter smiled.

Suddenly, something in Draco’s chest flipped. Firmly, Draco occluded the uncomfortable feeling to be dealt with later with all the other unfarmiliar feelings.

Potter’s smile turned into a grin. “Shall I escort you back to the floo, hapless citizen?”

Draco shook his head. “No thank you. Perhaps you should return to your pile of paperwork. Even _Weasley_ is doing better than you.”

“Hey!” Potter and Weasley said simultaneously.

Draco smirked. “Au revoir, Aurors.” He turned with a flare of his robes.

:::

Back at the Manor, Glicky and other house-elf were going through the returned items and checking them against the Manor inventory tomes.

Draco looked over the items and checked them against the list that Kuffet had given him. He wasn’t _entirely_ satisfied—some of the items were clearly in worse condition. But Draco really _could not be bothered_ with arguing back and forth with the likes of Kuffet. It would be faster if Draco organised the items to be restored himself.

With that, Draco headed to Gringotts to make the _correct_ monetary transfer and had the goblins send copies of the receipt of transfer to the Minister’s Office and to Auror Potter. He took the opportunity to withdraw more Galleons, ignoring the grumbles of the goblins. After all, what was the _point_ of money if it was locked in a bank?

From there, Draco finally went to where he had planned to go—to Knockturn Alley. In particular, to the grand new multi-storey building that took up the width of three old buildings.

The ground floor contained Draco’s new office, along with a large kitchen, a large dining area and miscellaneous amenities. Above that, sat a dozen self-contained one-bedroom flats, each with a unique layout.

Draco spent the rest of the daylight hours getting the wards in: it was tricky, due to each of the different zones in the building; the privacy that each of the units needed, versus the public dining hall that would welcome mostly all except those with malevolent intent.

On the next day, he and the house-elves got around fully furnishing the dining hall and installing in the basic core pieces to Draco’s office, while a new contingent of elves stocked the kitchen and prepared for the opening dinner.

In the afternoon, Lisa wandered into Draco’s office.

“The hall looks like a proper restaurant,” she said, her head motioning to the dining hall adjacent to Draco’s office.

“I would accept nothing less than a good dining experience,” Draco said, not looking up.

As expected, Lisa came right up to Draco’s desk. “What are you doing? That looks horrible!”

Draco looked up and frowned. “What’s so wrong about them?” He had been making flyers to advertise the building. “If you are amenable, I would hire you to hands these out too.”

“Yeah, no, I’m not handing out those monstrosities.” Lisa yanked the flyers away from Draco. “ _I’ll_ make some nicer ones and hand them out. I may not have a design degree, but I can do much better than _you_.”

Draco raised a speculative eyebrow. “Would you _like_ a design degree?” It was surprising that he could still throw Lisa off.

“Me, a _degree?_ ” Lisa’s eyebrows drew together. “You would _pay_ for that?” She stared at him for a moment longer, and then rolled her eyes. “Wait, of course you would.”

“Just think about it,” Draco said mildly. “The Malfoy enterprises and investments make more than enough money. Charge me for your time, and put up some outside the building, will you? The kitchen will open at 5pm for any early diners and will run til the last diner leaves.”

“I really, _really_ owe you,” Lisa said.

“Pretend I’m a Gryffindor, or that I’m Harry Potter,” Draco offered. “I’m _rich_. I don’t _need_ you to repay me. Pay it forward. Help me help _you_.”

Lisa gave a frustrated sigh. “And I still don’t know how to _do_ that! At least Andrew’s brewing potions, he’s actually _doing_ something. But the rest of us...”

Draco exhaled and folded his hands in his lap. He took a moment to re-organise his mind. “Lisa, take a seat.”

Lisa did so.

“I spent three years in Azkaban for my crimes during the War,” Draco said plainly.

Lisa nodded tersely and glanced towards the door.

“I sat in cell four paces across, barely wide enough for me to lie down and stretch out. I had nothing to do.”

“Is that why you’re always _doing_ something now?”

Draco grimaced.

Even though he didn’t reply, Lisa nodded again.

“The only reason I’m out _now_ is because of Harry Potter’s word. Because he bothered to come to my War Trial and speak. But, I deserved a much longer sentence. The entire _Malfoy Family_ deserves a much longer sentence. We have done many things over the last few hundred years.” Draco fixed Lisa with a look. “I can’t make it up to those long dead, but I can start correcting the effects of our actions on the living.”

Lisa’s forehead furrowed as she though. “What, so this _entire_ thing is a reputation gig? You’re just _pretending_ to be nice?”

“Does that make more sense to you? Does that make you feel better? More importantly, does that make you feel like you _don’t_ owe me?”

Lisa raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, no. It would make more sense if you were an honestly nice person, but that I suddenly got a house on my own merit, not because I’m some ‘effect’ that you need to correct. Werewolves are on your mental list, aren’t we?” Lisa thought for a moment. “And homeless folk. House-elves. Blaise Zabini. War damage on Kockturn.”

“The house-elves were not expected,” Draco pointed out. “And Blaise is _not_ on my internal list.”

Lisa shook her head. “Blaise _is_ on your list. You get him to _do_ all these things, keep him busy and motivated. And I bet you have more planned, like War orphans, and non-human beings and—”

“There is a very long list of people who the Malfoy Family have wronged,” Draco cut in. “Desist your psychoanalysis of me, and get those flyers out before dinner comes and goes.”

Lisa stood up, regarded him silently, and left.

Draco leaned back into his chair with an exhausted sigh. It was too _soon_ for him to have had that conversation. He himself was confused with what he said.

If only he _were_ just an honestly nice person. But he wasn’t.

:::

Some time past five, Potter wandered into Draco’s office, a flyer in his hand. He waved it at Draco—Lisa had kept her word and made updated flyers.

“What is this? And what is _all of this_?” Potter swept a hand out to encompass the whole building. “When you said you had an office, I didn’t expect _all of this_.”

Draco raised one shoulder in a shrug. “I must fill up my spare time somehow.”

Potter’s eyebrows went up. “I thought you filled your time with Potions. It’s really... _something_ ,” he said, looking around.

“Ministry building codes are lax.”

“I don’t think they anticipated all this.” Potter read over the flyer in his hand again. “Are you really giving away flats?”

“I’m _not_ giving them away. I’m offering them at a rent of nil sickles. Pay attention to the details, Potter.”

Potter shook his head. “You could make a lot of money leasing here, right in central London.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, Knockturn Alley isn’t _bustling_ , and it was even worse when I first came here.”

“Then, what of the quality of the flats?”

Draco gave Potter a bland look, feeling a little defensive. “They are comfortable, expanded with wizarding space and tastefully furnished. I would _not_ build substandard flats.”

Potter frowned. “Then what’s the catch? Just _giving_ people a place to live for free...it’s not a _bad_ thing, but _why_ would _you_ do it? Employment rates have gone up—I know, among humans—but you’re mainly offering these to humans, right? The house-elves are all staying at Malfoy Manor.”

Draco rubbed his eyes. “You should compare notes with Lisa on my apparent actions,” he muttered. “This would drastically reduce homelessness in the local area.”

Potter’s frown deepened as he stared at the flyer in his hand. “There was a lot of charities post-war that found housing for everyone.”

Draco tapped on his desk, bringing Potter’s head up. “Then they missed the less savoury parts of London.”

“This is not looking good for the Ministry,” Potter said drily. He raised a hand and rubbed his face.

“In this matter, you can’t stop me. Rent prices are mostly arbitrary and I can put them at zero if I wish.”

Potter shook his head, but he had a light smile on face. “You’ve done a lot. And we haven’t even had your two-month parole meeting yet.”

“I’m on a tight schedule,” Draco said.

Potter nodded. “Yeah, I get the feeling. Right after the War...I...” He shook his head. “Just don’t burn out.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You’re not looking so peaky yourself.”

Potter snorted. “After you bought the thefts in Malfoy Manor to us, me and Ron have been chasing up possible thefts and looting of other Death Eater houses that the Ministry searched after the War. A lot of people aren’t happy with me,” he added with a tight chuckle.

Draco accepted that. “I’ll send you personal updates on my actions, then, to lighten your load on my part.”

Potter had a pained smile on face. “Ron would crack up if he found out that you were _voluntarily_ telling me about your day.”

Draco felt his face relaxing into a smirk. “Why so, Potter?”

“None-of-your-business,” Potter muttered, looking away.

Draco stayed silent for a few moments longer to stretch Potter’s obvious embarrassment, before he ask, “Will you attend the dinner?”

“The opening dinner? I’m not actually homeless or poor...” Potter trailed off. “And my presence would draw media attention. That you probably don’t want.”

Draco’s face fell. He could easily ban the media, or anyone with a camera, from entering the premise. But they could wait outside and discourage other potential diners, which was the opposite of what Draco wanted. He hadn’t thought to put up other precautionary measures and wards that would dissuade that.

“Maybe another night,” Draco sighed, “when it becomes better established.”

“You could set this up as a charitable organisation with the Ministry,” Potter said.

“I could, if I wanted to deal with the Ministry and jump through those hoops.” Draco gave Potter a look. “You know about this because you run a charity yourself.”

Potter sat up. “The War Orphans fund.”

Draco pulled out a cheque book and wrote a donation with a flourish.

Potter’s eyes widened when Draco handed the cheque to him. “What, Malfoy—”

“Go on, I trust you to not embezzle it,” Draco said.

Potter’s lips twisted, but he accepted the cheque. “Are you going to claim the tax deduction?”

Draco shrugged.

Potter rolled his eyes. “I’ll take that as a no.” He stood up. “It’s nearly six. I’ll see you around another day?”

“I assume that our paths will cross again,” Draco said solemnly.

Potter rolled his eyes again. “Wise-sounding statements aren’t suitable for you, if you’re going to keep dressing like that.”

Draco narrowed his eyes and sat up straighter. “What is wrong with what I wear?”

“Wearing fancy robes like _that_ destroy the image,” Potter said, grinning. “But it looks not-bad.” He gave Draco a wave and headed out before Draco could formulate an intelligent response.

_Looks not-bad?_ Draco blinked and shook his head. He barely had time to recollect himself when Blaise walked in.

“Was that _Potter_?” he asked. “You’re seeing an awful lot of him lately. Care to share?” Blaise made a quick scan of the room and immediately went to drape himself on the chaise lounge that was set against the wall.

“In the flesh,” Draco said, leaning back into his own chair. “And there’s nothing to share that you don’t already know. Now, why are you here? Dinner is in the very large adjacent room—you really couldn’t have missed it.”

Blaise snorted. “It’s lovely, and watch that your head doesn’t explode with importance,” he said. “But this isn’t sustainable. You don’t have bottomless coffers. You can’t help _everyone_ , Draco. You can’t even help all those who _want_ help.”

Draco placed a hand over the accounting ledgers he had been going through, drawing Blaise’s attention to them. “That’s not going to be a problem for years yet.” Draco said.

Blaise sat up, eyes serious. “Some people don’t like what you’re doing, Draco. You’re taking away business from a lot of the shopkeepers, giving free housing and food as you are.”

“The ones we’re helping didn’t have enough money to visit those shops in the first place.” Draco said drily. “And I have _you_ to smooth them over.”

Draco stood up. “The dinner service will be starting, so watch out for that crease in your robes.”

“How dare you insult me like that,” Blaise said back, standing up. With a wave of his hand, his robes smoothed out. After a moment, he waved a hand at Draco too, his magic realigning the fall of Draco’s robes. “Now, we may proceed,” Blaise said, walking confidently out of the office.

Draco followed him out.

:::

:::

:::

Harry’s eyes seemed to skip across sections of the reports, and he started to feel dizzy when he tried to focus on the parts that he missed. He was _sure_ that he had written certain things and changed certain things in Malfoy’s file, but he couldn’t seem to see those changes. There was nothing wrong with the reports that Malfoy had just sent him, but everything else seemed just a little off.

Suddenly, Harry realised what was happening. Grimly, he took out his wand and tapped at the files. It took a couple of spells before Harry could read what was hidden, but no amount of spells would reveal who had tampered with the files in the first place.

Someone had written over Harry’s corrections, and as Harry read further, there was at least one Auror who was currently monitoring Malfoy—there were detailed recordings about Malfoy’s very recent actions and whereabouts that Harry had not seen before. _Despite_ the fact that Malfoy’s case had been transferred to Harry and Ron. Harry frowned when he reached the report about Malfoy’s Knockturn activities and ventures and saw his own name amongst the list of those who entered Malfoy’s building. Harry made a copy of all the corrected files.

Feeling grim and uneasy, Harry took the original case files and went down to Filings to see what else had been misfiled or tampered, and to see why certain citizens had their names specially marked when they appeared in Malfoy’s file. Harry had the sinking suspicion that they were known werewolves, but he needed evidence before he could take it to Hermione...and before he could warn Malfoy.

“You’re coming down here a lot,” Eric, manager of Records and Filings.

Harry quickly regarded Eric, but he couldn’t tell from a quick glance whether or not Eric was involved in all this. “I think there has been some file tamperings,” Harry said, slowly.

“ _Pardon?!_ ” Eric spluttered, standing up from his desk.

Harry didn’t back down. “Who else has been accessing Draco Malfoy’s file, aside from yourself?”

Eric scowled. “I would _never_ tamper with a file,” he spat, adjusting his tie.

“Then, will you aid me in my investigation?”

“You Aurors…!” Eric sat down. “Come here, I won’t say it twice,” he snapped. He took Malfoy’s case file from Harry’s hands and cast a spell on it, crosschecking with a huge open tome on his desk.

“In the last month, persons with Draco Malfoy’s file include: Aurors Potter, Weasley, Cricke, Brown and Robards.” Eric cut of his spell with a sharp flick and handed Malfoy’s file back. “Is that all?”

_Cricke, Brown and Robards_ , Harry repeated in his head. “No, I want to see the case files on other ex-Slytherins and connected family. There are also other persons that I need to check.”

Eric’s jaw tightened. “Do you have a _list_?”

“Er, no. Can I borrow a quill and parchment?”

Eric did so, giving Harry a sharp, “And make it quick.”

Harry quickly wrote down some names that he remembered—a dozen or so, more than enough for the moment. Eric took the parchment back and scanned over them. With a couple of spells, case files came zooming out from the storage room behind him.

“There. Anything else you want to bother me with?”

“No, thanks, Eric.” Harry gave Eric a sheepish look. “I’ll try to write neater.”

“Don’t try, _do_.”

Harry made his escape and went back to his office. And what he found made him start a proper case file for a secret investigation, one where he wasn’t sure if even _Robards_ was involved or not.

The next time Harry went down to Records and Filings, he made sure to have a prepared list on hand, and a ‘Go Away’ mug that he thought Eric might appreciate.


	6. Chapter 6

 

“Shit, Draco, we need to do something more,” Lisa said without preamble the moment she burst into his office.

With a brief thought, Draco’s documents collected themselves into one of the drawers, and he focused on Lisa.

She dropped an empty case on Draco’s desk and sat down heavily. “I almost had a run in with a bunch of Aurors.”

“What’s the problem?”

Lisa exhaled and firmed her jaw. “It’s hard enough to distribute the Wolfsbane. People don’t want their identities known. I try to give them the full seven potions—minimises the time they have to be out. But it seems that Aurors have been confiscating them off people. And I’m sure they’re out to get _me_. They know my face,” she said grimly.

Draco grimaced. “We could set a glamour on you and find something less conspicuous than a potions case.”

“I thought of that, but that doesn’t help everyone _else,_ ” Lisa said forcefully. “I’m afraid that some might have missed one of their potions. Would it even _work_ if that happens?”

“The Wolfsbane should still work, albeit at a limited capacity,” Draco said absently. “If they stayed at the Manor, or one of my hidden properties, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Except it _is_. Draco, unlike homeless little me, some of these people still have actual lives they’re trying to keep up with.”

“Wolfsbane isn’t illegal. And we’re not selling them, so we don’t need a license,” Draco said. “What are these Aurors saying? How are they legally confiscating the potions?”

Lisa glared at him. “Does that even matter? They can make up whatever excuse they want. _I_ wouldn’t try to fight a whole group of Aurors if they cornered me like that.”

Draco conceded. “Then tell me what we should do, and we’ll do it.”

“We need a discreet way to distribute the potions. And a way for the potions to be kept hidden, despite Auror search spells,” Lisa said.

“An undetectable extension charm would hide the contents within. If we make sufficiently small packages with the charm, they could be passed easily. Owled, even. And we give you a cover—have you distribute something else as well, which you could give to the Aurors if you come in contact with them.”

“I need materials.”

Draco rubbed his brows. “Talk to Blaise. Or—maybe Kelly. They can do crafts and make what you need. And talk to Pansy. She’ll help you with a legitimate cover. In the worse case, you could hand out all of my flyers,” Draco added with a grim smile.

“If I did that, they’ll definitely connect me with you.”

Draco snorted. “As if they haven’t already. Talk to Pansy.”

After a moment, Lisa nodded firmly. “Alright. Blaise would be at Malfoy Manor. Let me use your floo.”

“Go right ahead.”

Lisa took the empty potions case and used the floo in Draco’s office.

Once he was alone again, Draco sighed. Grudgingly, he took out the documents and papers he was looking at: finances.

:::

On the day before the full moon, Granger walked into Draco’s Knockturn office.

Draco stood up to greet her, and they shook hands over Draco’s desk.

“Granger,” Draco greeted. “What brings you here during working hours?”

Granger produced a file and opened it over Draco’s desk. There were some of Draco’s leaflets, some newspaper clippings, and handwritten papers.

“Harry brought you to my attention. You’ve been harbouring and-or aiding unregistered werewolves.”

Draco immediately scowled. “No.”

“Pardon?” Granger glared at Draco.

“I’m not going to help you. I haven’t done _nothing_ since I left Azakaban. I know you work for the Minister’s Office. And I’m not going to help you ruin the lives of some werewolves that happened to survive post-War.”

Granger’s glare smouldered down a little. “I wasn’t,” she grounded out. “Stop making _assumptions_ , Malfoy! I’ve been trying to campaign for the abolishment of the Werewolf Register and complete destruction of all its past registrations. But the Minister has been ignoring it for larger issues, and the Wizengamot won’t consider it.”

Granger took a breath and leaned forward. “But _y_ _ou’_ re a pureblood. You have pureblood friends and connections. If you could just suggest to them to push this change, then you could actually make some _systematic_ , country-wide difference to the lives of werewolves, rather than just the handful that you can directly help.”

Draco crossed his arms. “Granger, my actions do not endear me to the majority of the traditional pureblood crowds. Anyone following the papers _knows_ that I’ve been housing the homeless and feeding the poor, far beyond what is deemed acceptable charity. Furthermore, the purebloods who are _relatively_ liberal have distanced themselves from the Malfoy name. And the ones who still care for the name are the fundamentalist purebloods—who become even more fundamentalist if you try to push them,” Draco added pointedly.

“You have to _try_ ,” Granger insisted. “Even if you put just some external pressure, the Minister would be forced to address the issue.”

“Fine.” Draco capitulated, slightly. “I will _consider_ it. I will see what I can do.”

Granger straightened. “Good. Now, unfortunately I also have other business to talk with you about. Firstly, taxes.”

Draco groaned inwardly.

“While you were in Azkaban, your property taxes and associated council taxes weren’t been paid,” Granger started listing, reading down a sheet of parchment. “Neither have you paid your portion of income tax from your various businesses, the dividend tax from your shares and your St. Mungos and other medical levies. Due to non-payment, you are also liable for a late fine.” Granger took a deep breath and went to the next page. “Ah, you’ve already paid the stamp duty for the various places you’ve purchased since your release.”

“I will make the payments as soon as possible,” said Draco. “It would have been a lot faster if the Ministry actually sent me my taxation notice.”

“I can’t believe you lost them,” Granger said, rolling her eyes.

Draco remained silent. They were never sent in the first place.

Granger flicked through some of the papers in her file and duplicated some of them—Draco’s tax bills for the last three years.

“Thank you, Granger. If only I had it a few months ago,” he said drily. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes.” Granger pointed to some of Draco’s flyers. “Whilst gifting money is perfectly legal, there is a limit to the gifting a private individual can do without being taxed.”

“I thought you worked for the Minister’s Office as Secretary of Welfare, not the Department of Taxation.”

Granger huffed. “Would you just listen for a moment and let me finish? I was _going_ to say that your actions are charitable, and therefore you should set up a charitable organisation around what you are doing. That way, you can direct your funds to the charity tax-free—and even claim a tax deduction—and then the charity can dispense the funds without incurring taxation either.”

Draco sighed. “I’ll do as soon as possible. Anything else?”

Granger flicked through the file one more time and then closed it decisively. “Nothing more from the Ministry. Malfoy, I’m glad that you’re doing this. Not only are you helping others, you are also helping the wizarding economy by spending money.”

At this, Draco said, “The _human_ wizarding economy, I presume.”

“Uh—yes,” Granger quickly recovered. “The Ministry only keeps some statistics from human beings.”

“Due to both the post-war and since the passing of the house-elf laws, house-elf employment dropped dramatically. What plans do you have for that?” Draco sat back, affecting casualness.

“They’re working less hours for equal pay,” Granger said slowly. Her eyes narrowed at him.

“Some of them, yes. But with many purebloods gone for various reasons, and since the middle and lower classes do not want to employ elves from pureblood households, these elves had been unemployed.”

Granger cursed. “The social welfare doesn’t include them yet!” she exclaimed to herself. She pulled out a notebook and muggle pen and started scribbling away.

Draco looked over his tax bills as he waited impatiently for her to stop.

“I have to go!” Granger said suddenly. She stood up, taking her file with her. “It was very good to speak to you, Malfoy. I’ll be back again.”

“My pleasure,” Draco said, standing up.

Granger nodded and strode out of Draco’s office.

Draco waved the door closed and sat down again. He suddenly had more things to do, and many things for Pansy to do for him.

:::

On the day of the full moon, Draco’s office door was perpetually open, as various people flooed to Malfoy Manor. Disillusion charms hung heavy in the air, and Draco had cast various other anti-surveillance charms around the Knockturn building that extended fifteen meters beyond the front fascade. He had Pansy to drop by Knockturn and check things out frequently—she was known as a lawyer, and Draco knew her presence would dissuade certain people from doing certain not-quite-legal acts.

When Draco dropped by Malfoy Manor briefly during lunch, he could see that it was already busy, as house-elves suddenly had many useful tasks they could do relating to the influx of guests. Some of the guests ate at the dining table, whilst others had their meals elsewhere around the Manor. Blaise was doing a good job of making everyone feel welcome, and so Draco left him to it.

Dinner at Knockturn happened at its usual time, but many of those who flooed over during the day had an early dinner over at the Manor—which Draco perfectly understood, because it wouldn’t do to be late for the moon rising.

By the time Draco returned back to the Manor, the moon had just risen. The Manor was quiet, but when Draco looked out his window, he could see numerous wolves racing over the open grounds. Draco watched for a few more moments, breathing deeply. _This is good_ , he thought firmly. Then, he turned back to his desk.

:::

The next morning, there were only a few faces at the dining table.

“Late night?” Draco said conversationally when Lisa shuffled in.

“Oh, it was a riot,” she muttered back. “I got more exercise last night than I did the entire month,” she grumbled.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you _not_ run?”

She glared at him and sat down next to Blaise instead.

“Was it preferable to being locked in a room?”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Lisa said. “There are some who want to stay here longer, if that’s alright with you.”

“Perfectly,” Draco said. “The Manor is _starved_ of occupants.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Your own fault for having a mansion.”

“It was a perfectly reasonable _manor_ house during its time,” Draco had to point out. “And you haven’t even seen _Blaise’s_ place yet.”

Blaise chuckled. “Maybe I’ll take you down to Italy to see it some day,” he said easily. “It would be a good holiday for you.” Blaise considered each and every other person at the tablet, except Draco. “You are all welcome—except you, Draco. You’ll spoil the fun by making us work there as well.”

Draco shot Blaise a wounded look. “My dear friend, how could you...”

Blaise smiled back smugly.

:::

Draco had _just_ arrived at his office, had _just_ gone out to check that the doors were open and had _just_ gone back into his office when the door opened again behind him and Potter walked right in.

“Malfoy,” he said without preamble, “you know a lot of werewolves.”

“No,” Draco said bluntly. He pulled out some paperwork for the charitable foundation Pansy was setting up for him and proceeded to look over them.

Potter leaned over the desk. “There’s been an attack and someone has been admitted to St Mungos for their wounds.”

Draco leaned back and looked Potter square in the eye. “There are some things I cannot help you with, and divulging private medical information is one of them.”

“I don’t want to use the Werewolf Register. It’s wrong and unethical.” Potter folded his arms across his chest. “So.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “And getting me to break my confidences is somehow not wrong? Potter, I thought you were better than that.”

Potter winced. He sat down on the chair. “Look, you’ve been handing out Wolfsbane to werewolves. This attack...I want to know at least whether it was by someone with or without their human state of mind.”

“I don’t hand out Wolfsbane, and even if I hypothetically did, it doesn’t reach everyone who needs it. It doesn’t help that Aurors have been rumoured to confiscate Wolfsbane.”

Potter groaned and scrubbed his face. “Seriously? This could mean that the entire crime could have been framed.” He sighed and slumped back. “Aside from the Werewolf Register, I found more case files in the Auror departments listing suspected werewolves. The victim, if they live, would have to be registered as well.”

“Even thought they were the _victim_ in all this?” Draco said sarcastically. From the moment Granger had walked through his office door two days ago, he felt as though everything was starting to blow up. At this rate, he’d need to get Andrew or another potioneer to brew some Wide-Eye for him.

“Yeah.” Potter sighed again. “Look, I know that werewolves are _people_. Some of them are good. But some of them are bad.”

“I cannot give you names of who did and did not receive Wolfsbane that I know of. I cannot give you the locations of people during last night’s full moon. At least, not yet. I need you to give your word—and the Ministry’s word—that they would be treated fairly, and for the Ministry to recognise and address any hypothetical extenuating circumstances.”

“I don’t know if I can promise that on behalf of the Ministry,” said Potter.

Draco shook his head. “Until then, I won’t help you. This is a safe place, and aiding the Auror Department is corroborating with the enemy.”

“This sucks.” Potter stood up. “Right, so you won’t help me. Don’t give me that look, I understand, unfortunately. I have to go and try to work this out on my own.”

“My sincere apologies,” Draco said.

“I know.” Potter turned and walked out.

Draco waved the door shut behind him and immediately called one of the house-elves to prepare him a strong cup of dark tea. Between the charity papers that he needed to fill and file at the Ministry, and the speed-up of the campaign for the abolishment of the Werewolf Register, Draco had a lot of work ahead.

:::

The dinner that evening at Knockturn was hushed.

There were less people than usual—some were still staying at the Manor, and others were likely recovering at home. But more than that, the word of the werewolf attack had spread, and tensions were rising as what they, as a community of werewolves and allies, should do.

Then, Potter appeared, and the hush became dead silence.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Pansy hissed. “This complicates _everything_.”

“Everything has already become complicated,” Draco muttered back. He cursed inwardly. The daily dinner was free and open to all, and Draco wanted to keep to that as strictly as he could. At least the wards that had been set up for the full moon were still in place.

Harry Potter, even without his Auror robes, was too recognisable. It was a small mercy that Potter was wearing slouchy, muggle commoner’s clothing, but Draco half suspected that Potter was here to scout out possible suspects.

Indeed, Potter had obviously spotted Draco, but he was looking around the entire hall and at the other diners.

At that, Draco stood up and made it impossible for Potter to ignore him. “Welcome, Potter!” he said across the room. He waved Potter over. “Come here, sit with us.”

Potter startled, but he walked over, looking sheepish.

Draco pulled out the chair next to him pointedly, and after Potter sat down, Draco sat back down too.

“You’ve met Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson,” Draco introduced.

Potter nodded. “Hi. Yes. Parkinson is an occasional face at the Ministry.”

“Potter,” Pansy said, “how peculiar that you are _here_ though.”

In contrast, Blaise gave Potter a winning smile. “Good evening, Harry. Lovely to see you.”

Potter glanced back and forth between Pansy and Blaise. “Er, you too,” he finally said to Blaise. To Pansy he said, “I was curious. And it beats eating dinner by myself.”

Pansy raised an unconvinced eyebrow.

“It’s a really good idea,” Potter continued. “Have you thought of extending this to Muggles?”

Draco handed Potter a menu. “Pick what you want for dinner by tapping on the items, and they will shortly appear in front of you. Keep the menu, especially if you want to eat more, or have dessert.”

“Muggles do this in some form _already_ ,” said Pansy. “And I hope you noticed that we’re in _Knockturn Alley,_ not muggle London.”

Potter looked at Draco in askance.

Draco looked back blandly. He wanted to see how Potter would go with Pansy.

“Right,” Potter muttered. He engrossed himself with the menu. “It looks really fancy.”

“We have many house-elves on hand. They like cooking new and different things,” Draco said.

“Molly likes to stick to traditional food.”

“There is a wide range of traditional food,” Draco said.

“Traditional _British_ food.” Potter sighed. “I wish she’d cook a proper curry for once.”

“I’m sure she wants to stick to what she knows,” Blaise placated. “Why don’t you volunteer to cook and to show her how you do it?”

Potter focused on Blaise. “I’m always really busy with work.” He glanced at Draco. “And things have been _really_ busy lately.”

Draco glanced at Pansy, whose eyes were narrowed. He bet they were thinking the same thing— _if you’re so busy, why are you here? Or is_ this _part of your Auror work?_

“Whenever you find time,” Blaise said easily.

Potter mumbled, “I don’t know if she’ll even let me...she loves cooking for others, and I don’t want to take that away from her.”

“Just ask her.” Blaise leaned forward. “Who wouldn’t say yes to a handsome face like yours?”

Potter flushed. He immediately looked down and fiddled with his menu.

Blaise gave Draco a short nod.

Draco relaxed somewhat, and Pansy rolled her eyes.

Blaise kept Potter’s attention throughout the dinner, while Draco and Pansy chatted quietly about inane things like the state of current music.

They were the last to remain in the dining hall, and it was Draco who stood up first.

“Shall we call it a night? I have a lot of work to do tomorrow,” he said, ignoring Blaise’s chuckles.

“I actually wanted to talk to you,” Potter said quickly.

Draco mustered up some patience and sat back down. “Very well.”

Pansy and Blaise stood.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Pansy said meaningfully.

“Have a good night, both of you,” Blaise said. He patted Potter on the shoulder, and then left with Pansy.

Draco turned to Potter. “What is that you wish to speak of?”

Potter’s demeanour became serious and he cast a privacy charm around them. “Have you heard anything?”

“Heard of what?”

“The attack.”

“You haven’t given me your word, nor the Ministry’s,” Draco said blandly.

Potter’s jaw tightened. “But don’t you want to _help_? Or are you an accomplice?”

“You expect me to give you information, when you yourself have barely given me any details about the attack.”

“It’s in the papers!”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You of all people know that the papers are not all truth. You of all people know that official statements that the Ministry give are not all truth.”

“Anything more is classified information. I can’t say more because if the information reaches the culprit...”

“And I can’t help you,” Draco said simply. “My apologies, but I do not know.” Draco stood up. “I hope you had a good dinner.”

Potter stared at him, but finally he stood up as well. “Yeah, it was good.”

Draco walked him to the door.

“I’ll see you around,” Potter said reluctantly.

“Yes, you know where to find me.” Draco paused for a moment. “I _am_ sorry that I can’t help you. But you still imply that the werewolf is the culprit—perhaps it’s because you have information I’m not privy to. Greyback was an extremist. Most people however, werewolf or not, aren’t.”

Potter exhaled and nodded tightly. “I understand. Night, Malfoy.”

“Good night, Auror Potter.”

Draco waited for Potter to disapparate first. Only then, Draco strengthened the wards around the building and headed back to his office to floo home to Malfoy Manor.

:::

Draco was in the middle of a meeting with Pansy at Malfoy Manor when one of the house-elves popped in.

“Master Draco!” the house elf said. “Aurors are being in Knockturn! They are asking for you!”

He and Pansy exchanged a look.

“This isn’t good,” Pansy said darkly. “Ideally, you won’t go and meet them.”

“I can’t avoid it,” Draco said, sighing. “Can you finish this, on my behalf?”

Pansy crossed her arms. “Yes, I can. If I don’t hear from you in a few hours, I’ll expect the worse.”

Draco smirked. “Thanks, I’ll expect you to save me.” He turned to the elf. “Take me there.”

The elf quickly stepped forward and side-alonged Draco, in the way elves did, to Knockturn Alley.

There were three red-robed Aurors there, waiting.

“Aurors, what can I do for you?” Draco said mildly. He didn’t move when two of them flanked him and grabbed his arms like commoners instead of casting upon him. “Yes?” he enquired politely.

“You are under arrest, assault being the _least_ of your charges,” the third Auror said.

“Is that so? What assault is it that I’m supposed to have committed? May I see your arrest warrant?”

The Aurors all scowled at Draco.

“Anything you say will be used as evidence.”

“Evidence that you’re wrong?” Draco’s mouth said. These Aurors were annoying him and he had much more important things to do than squabble with them.

The grips on Draco’s arms tightened, and he was suddenly side-alonged to a dark corridor. The Aurors pushed him into a space—a Ministry cell, Draco assumed. One of them kicked him in further when his arms were released, and the door quickly closed behind him.

The room was dark, but for the bars of light between the grated door that separated him from the lit corridor and the Aurors.

Draco brushed himself off and went up to the door. “Contact my legal representative, will you?” he asked mildly.

“You’re going right back to Azkaban,” one of the Aurors growled, “and we won’t let you squirm your way out of this one.”

“We are the UK, not America,” Draco pointed out. “I’m innocent until and unless proven guilty. So if you would contact my legal representative—”

Without a farewell, they walked away.

Draco rolled his eyes. He tried to peer down the corridor, but the door predictably got in his way. He took out his wand, but there was a heavy magic suppression field that extended at least a little beyond the door, because he couldn’t get anything to work even when he stuck his wand through the gaps.

He had a few hours to wait, then. Draco tucked his wand away and sat down on the floor—there was no furniture—and planned out what he needed to do once he got out. He wasn’t going to waste time, after all.

:::

An hour or so later, two of the three Aurors returned, dark expressions on their faces. They hustled him out of the cell and immediately body-bind him away from the cell’s suppression field. They herd into down the corridors and into a large, brightly lit, barely-furnished room.

There is a table and chairs at the center, and dark glass along one side. Draco wondered if anyone was watching from behind there, but he had little time to muse as the Aurors pushed him down onto one of the chairs and cast _incarcerous_ and _accio_ ’ed Draco’s wand. One of the Aurors sat down opposite Draco, the other stood.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater, recently released from Azakban,” the Auror sitting down started. “You have been charged with assault with grievous intent, with failure to register with the Werewolf Registry, with hindering the course of law, and with tax invasion.”

“I was going to file my taxes today, if you hadn’t arrested me without a warrant,” Draco said mildly. “Are you going to cast the transcription spell?”

“You’ve been out of Azkaban for months!” the Auror standing up growled. “You’ve had ample time to file them.”

“It would have helped if the Ministry actually sent me my tax notices, which I only acquired a few days ago,” Draco continued mildly. He could see that they were getting more and more annoyed. _Welcome to my life_ , Draco thought sardonically. It served them right.

“Have you nothing to say? Doing Greyback’s dirty work?”

“I would like to speak with my legal representative.”

“We have the right to question you, and you are compelled to answer,” the standing Auror growled, leaning into Draco’s personal space. “Now, answer.”

Draco leaned forward as much as he could, forcing the Auror back lest they kissed. “Why don’t you speak with Hermione Granger, from the Minister’s Office.” He doesn’t flinch when a hard slap landed on his check. Instead, he continued, “And with Harry Potter, from the Auror department.”

Both of the Aurors were now on their feet. Draco felt their magic rolling off them, no doubt trying to frighten him.

“You think—you purebloods with your fancy _lawyers_ and _legal representatives_ , getting so light a sentence as to be a joke! _You_ attacked the Head Robards’ daughter! You’re a rotten werewolf like the rest of them!”

“I hope the Head Auror’s daughter gets better,” Draco said sincerely. _This_ information was new. Draco was certain that he was being framed and this suggested that Robards didn’t like his daughter as much as he postured... _or_ that someone wanted to pushed Robards onto a certain agenda.

A slap landed on his other cheek. He smiled at them—he appreciated the symmetry. It wouldn’t do for only one cheek to be red.

One of the Auror’s grabbed his nose, squeezed it, and pressed a vial against his lips. Draco pressed his lips together, clenched his teeth, and his throat and chest became tight with the lack of air.

He debated for a moment whether or not he should pass out—if he was unconscious, he wouldn’t be able to answer their questions. On the other hand, he would be unconscious, and his body would be at their mercy.

Resigned, Draco opened his mouth and let the Auror drop some Veritaserum on his tongue. His Occlumency shields tightened and he took a step away from his mind, just as he had done in Azkaban.

The two Aurors smirked.

“What is your name?”

Draco let the Veritaserum answer: “Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

“Are you a werewolf?”

“No.”

The faces of the Aurors’ darkened. “Fine. Did you help the werewolf who attacked the witch?”

“No.” Even this was easy—Draco hadn’t needed to fight the Veritaserum yet, since to the best of his knowledge, he didn’t help.

“Do you help werewolves?”

“Yes.” This was common knowledge—Draco rolled his eyes inwardly at their incompetence.

“How do you help them?”

“By providing them with things such as adequate food and a safe place to sleep, which are all basic rights that the Ministry should have done provided for them,” Draco said.

One of the Aurors slammed their fist into the table. “List all the werewolves you know!”

“I don’t know any.” There was a different between knowing someone and _really_ knowing someone, and Draco didn’t know them nearly as well as he knew Pansy or Blaise. Furthermore, some of them called themselves _lycans_ , and therefore Draco couldn’t name them either.

“Are you a Death Eater?” one shouted.

“No.” Inwardly, Draco smirked. He _was_ a Death Eater.

The Aurors swore. “The Veritaserum is clearly not working!”

“Of course it works! Bloody Malfoy is resisting it—I bet he took the Veritaserum antidote right before he appeared this morning!”

“I _told_ you we should have slipped it in some water! Then he wouldn’t have known to fight it—”

Draco let them argue, and shifted, testing out his bonds. They were tight—at least these Aurors were competent in _that_. However, it wouldn’t be _too_ hard for Draco to Vanish them. He concentrated for a moment, and cast.

As luck would have it, the door to the interrogation room slammed open. The interruption meant that ropes disappeared along with what it was in contact with—the interrogation chair _and_ Draco’s robes. For once, Draco despaired to have worn his robes the traditional way that morning—with nothing underneath. His wand hostler was still strapped his arm, empty of its wand.

The Aurors turned to the door, and one of them immediately looked back at Draco. “ _Incarcerous!_ ”

Draco easily dodged and looked towards the open door himself.

There was a righteous Potter, his distinctive magic rippling around him, as well as Pansy who was eagerly cracking her knuckles.

“Wands _down_!” Potter ordered, stomping into the room.

“Potter, you can’t just leave Malfoy _free_ like that—”

“Malfoy, how are you?” Potter said in a rush, turning towards Draco.

Draco could tell the precise moment Potter actually registered what he saw. Potter’s eyes went down and up, and he flushed a deep red and immediately spun around.

“A little chilly,” Draco said.

Pansy walked up to Draco, smirking. “What happened to your robes? Blaise would be devastated if you lost it.” She waved her wand and new robes appeared over arm, which she handed to Draco.

“Thanks, Pansy.” Pansy had produced one of Draco’s favourite white robes. “I’m afraid I’ve Vanished it, but I’m sure Blaise would love the excuse to force me to wear something different. Potter, I’m decent now,” he said.

Potter turned back, his face still red. “Good.” He turned to the two Aurors. “Why did you go behind my back?” he asked. “If you had just _waited—_ ”

“Because you have a conflict of _interest!_ We don’t mean any offence, but you shouldn’t have been put on this case!”

Potter gave them flat looks. “If you had waited, then you would know that we already have the werewolf involved. They came forward on their own accord.” His expression turned dark. “They had been unable to get sufficient Wolfsbane because it had been confiscated by _certain_ Aurors on grounds that they were illicit.” Potter looked like he was about to say some more on it, but instead, he said, “Aurors Williams and Keith, your actions will be reported. Following Auror protocol, you will be suspended, and I’m sure Robards will send details about it. But you are free to leave for now.”

“Fine,” the Aurors snapped.

“Wait, they still have my wand,” Draco said.

Potter held his hand out, and one of the Aurors grudgingly gave him Draco’s wand—still that old Malfoy wand. Potter subsequently tossed it to Draco, who tucked it back into his wand hostler.

“Malfoy, Parkinson, you are also free to go. I apologise for the mess, Malfoy.”

Draco exchanged a glance at Pansy. “How did you know I was here? I had requested your presence but I doubt they followed through.”

“I assumed the worst,” Pansy said. “I passed by Potter on the way, and he wanted to tag along.”

“When the case broke, I came back to the Ministry as quickly as possible to update the case files,” Potter said.

Draco turned to Potter. “Does this person have a legal representative?”

Potter frowned quizzically. “They didn’t ask for one.”

Pansy smiled sharply. “Fantastic, take me to them.”

Potter frowned. “I’m not sure you can do that—”

“Most people don’t ask because they don’t know about the possibility, or because they don’t have the funds for one,” Pansy said, voice sharp. “I bet you never offered to find them one. _Take me to them_. It’s only _fair_.”

At the word ‘fair’, Potter capitulated. “Alright, come with me then, Parkinson. Malfoy—”

“I’m very busy, Potter, I must get back to my work,” Draco said smoothly.

“I’ll lead you out first, then,” Potter said.

As Potter led them to the lifts, Draco asked, “Did that count as my monthly parole meeting?”

Potter gave a surprised laugh. “No, I wish. I’d completely forgotten, with everything.”

Draco nodded.

Draco got in to the lift but Potter and Pansy didn’t. Draco farewelled them and went up to the Ministry Atrium. He exited to London, apparated to his Knockturn office and flooed back to Malfoy Manor.

His heart almost jumped out of his chest when he saw who was waiting for him—his _Mum!_ He felt a burst of annoyance followed by defeat, as he thought wistfully of all the work and things he had wanted to get done.

“Mother! What are you doing here?”

Narcissa Malfoy was relaxing on the lounge. She raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to greet your mother?” she said disapprovingly.

“Sorry, Mother,” said Draco, contrite. “Good afternoon, Mother. I hope your journey here was well.”

“Good afternoon, Draco. It was relatively smooth.”

“Why don’t we go to the drawing room?” Draco said.

Narcissa stood up and led the way.

“From your last letter, I had assumed that you were comfortable in France,” Draco said as he followed his mother to the baby-blue drawing room.

Narcissa called for tea, first.

“I was,” Narcissa said shortly. “But certain news has reached the French papers.” She gave him a disappointed look. “I’ve been here since the morning. Where were you?”

Draco smiled lightly. “Apologies, Mother, I had been attending to some unavoidable business with the Ministry.”

Narcissa frowned. “Yes, that was what Pansy said. You’ve been giving away _properties_.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Mother,” Draco said. “I’m providing homes for as long as those in need require them.”

Narcissa was unamused. “Your actions has put the property and rental market into uncertainty. However, your actions have also put the Malfoy name into more favourable light amongst the masses,” she conceded.

Draco held his tongue and took a sip of his tea. “Mother, would you like to see my Knockturn office and the building there?”

“We haven’t finished speaking about the _Manor_. There are all the manner of new house-elves and _guests_! You informed me that the Malfoy elves had returned, but there are these _unknowns_ around the Manor, and I can hardly feel at home.”

“Is that why you left for France?” Draco said dryly. “The house-elves returned to the Manor on their own accord when they saw jobs worth doing here. As for the guests, I hope you treat them _as guests_ , because they _are_.”

“But Draco, I think some of them might be _werewolves_. They certainly have the scars.”

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. “What of it, Mother? I assume that you’ve heard that I’ve been distributing Wolfsbane—”

“For _free_!”

“—to those who need it. You might have not heard that I’m launching a campaign to abolish the Werewolf Register,” Draco said louder, right over whatever Narcissa was about to say, “And that is _entirely_ in line with the new Equal Rights Act for beings and creatures pioneered by Hermione Granger.”

Narcissa’s eyes narrowed. “That won’t help your reputation amongst the wellborn.”

“If _you_ have certain ideas about how to raise the Malfoy reputation, then please, do so. But this is _more_ than us. I’m _not_ going to be on the wrong side of history _again_ , Mother. It’s partly _our_ fault that there are so many people who are werewolves now.”

Narcissa’s expression remained dark.

“Do you know how many times I _almost_ got turned by Greyback?” Draco tried to appeal. His mother wouldn’t care for the others, but she cared for _Draco_.

“I understand,” she said, voice tight.

Draco took a deep breath. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mother? Are you going to be staying here for a while?”

Narcissa gave an airy smile. “A mother should do things for her son,” she said. “I will retreat to my wing—which I hope you left private.”

“Of course I did,” said Draco. “I usually have dinner at Knockturn on weekdays. Should I expect your presence there?”

“I am tired from travel, so please don’t mind if I dine here,” Narcissa replied. “Go on, don’t let me stop you from your work.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Draco stood up and gave his mother a bow, before he departed from the room.

He took the long way back to his Manor office to sort out his head. His mother was of the old guard, that was clear. If she could help him...but she would have to do so earnestly and on her own volition.

But before all the campaigning, he needed to do his taxes.

:::

After Draco filed his taxes and owled the papers to register the charity to the Ministry, Draco had just enough time to re-dress for the dinner.

When he walked into the dining hall, he was surprised to see the number of people in attendance. Not only was Potter there, chatting with Blaise, but there was also _Luna Lovegood_ conversing with Pansy.

Draco sat down next to Potter. “What alternate dimension have I fallen into?” he asked. “Potter, Lovegood, lovely to see you both, but what brings you here?”

Lovegood answered first. “I just came back from an expedition in New Zealand, and I was walking down Diagon Alley feeling quite hungry when Pansy came up and invited me here,” she said brightly. “She told me all about what you’ve been doing, and I think I might be able to help with some of it.”

Draco blinked. “Oh, splendid. We should chat together more formally sometime during the day.”

“Oh, I know you’re very busy, Draco!” Lovegood said. “And Pansy has already agreed to talk to me about the details.”

Draco shot Pansy a look. It was very curious when she inexplicably looked away.

“Potter’s here because he wants to see _you_ , Draco,” Pansy said, smirking when Potter choked.

Draco turned to Potter. “Is that so? I thought you would have been busy with the cases.”

“Parkinson was a great help. She was actually nice today,” Potter said slyly. “Things are really moving in the Ministry now. Robards doesn’t want to have to register his own daughter as a werewolf, now that he realises that—you know—werewolves are still people.”

“Potter is being overly positive and naive,” Pansy interrupted. “Robards was absolutely ready to hunt down all _other_ werewolves and bring them to—quote—justice. He still is, but now he knows he has the Equal Rights act hanging over his head, _as well_ as the knowledge that I’d bring him to court, kicking and screaming, if he attempts to go hunting.”

“We should get Lisa to talk to Robard’s daughter,” Draco mused.

“I’ll ask her,” Blaise said. “We could organise something discreet.”

“Appreciated,” Draco nodded. He regarded Potter. “You still haven’t answered why you wanted to see me.”

“ _Well_ if you had just let me _talk_ ,” Potter grumbled. “With everything happening, I forgot—I wanted to ask you if you wanted to see Andromeda and Teddy. They’re technically part of your family.”

Draco blinked. “Ah, speaking of family, my mother has just returned from France. Perhaps she might want to see Andromeda.”

“Only if she doesn’t say anything bad about Teddy,” Potter warned. “I’ll ask Andromeda. But do _you_ want to meet her yourself?”

“I should,” Draco sighed. “I’ll owl her first.”

“She’ll say yes,” Potter said confidently.

Draco nodded, but he then turned to Lovegood. “Lovegood, you mentioned an expedition to New Zealand. What on earth were you doing there? I didn’t think they take lightly to the British.”

Lovegood smiled. “I wanted to talk to them. You see, they have one of the longest kept history and...”

:::

:::

:::

Harry had initially thought that it was damn good luck that Robin—the person who attacked Robards’ daughter—came forward on their own volition. It was later, when he was questioning them—with Pansy in attendance, along with another Auror—that Harry realised it was Robin’s _decency_.

Harry felt uncomfortable when it drove home that Malfoy was right. Harry _had_ been biased on the outset when he heard of the attack.

He had to later restrain Robards from outright attacking Robin. Pansy then hustled Robards into a closed room and “had a chat” with him.

Robin was a victim of something else themself, and Harry had written down as such on their case file. He knew that Pansy would make sure that they get trialled fairly, and he would do anything she needed to help.

But in the meanwhile, Harry reported the actions of Aurors Williams and Keith for the kidnapping and improper interrogation of Draco Malfoy. He made duplicates of the reports, cast anti-tampering charms, and handed the report to Robards in person.

Robards scowled as he skimmed over the report. “You have the attacker in custody. Malfoy wasn’t even injured,” he said, putting the report aside. “We don’t have the resources to suspend Aurors, unless _you’re_ willing to take up their workload.”

“So. You’re saying that the Auror department doesn’t follow its own rules and protocols?” Harry said innocently. “Wouldn’t Kingsley like to know about this?”

“We’re no longer in the War, Potter,” Robards growled, standing up.

“You act like it, though,” Harry shot back. “Those Aurors need to be suspended. Otherwise, you’re setting an example. An example that Aurors are somehow above their own laws.”

“Then you’re taking their case load,” Robards said. His eyes narrowed. “I know you been down to records lately.”

“I’m sorry for being so conscientious,” Harry said insincerely. At this point, he was bloody sick and tired of whatever politics Robards was trying to play. And he suspected that even if Robards didn’t play a part in the things Harry was uncovering, Robards _did_ know about it, and was turning a blind eye. Like he was trying to do right now.

Robards straightened his robes and sat back down. “Auror Williams and Auror Keith will suspended for a total of two weeks. I will have their case work sent to you post haste.” He returned back to whatever he was doing before, a clear dismissal.

Harry nodded and left.

:::

By the start of the next day, _everyone_ in the Auror department had heard about Williams’ and Keith’s suspension. And _everyone_ had heard that it was Harry who forced it.

When Harry went to the break room for his morning tea, the other Aurors stared at him.

“Why didn’t you just drop it,” Brown said, to an audience of a handful of other Aurors.

“There were in the wrong,” Harry said. “I went through Auror training.”

“We all did. Williams and Keith are _senior_ to you,” Brown crossed his arms.

Harry glanced at the other Aurors, but none of them could quite meet his eye. Inwardly, Harry rolled his own eyes. “Then they should have known better,” Harry said, trying to sound patient. “As it were, Robards’ given me all their case work, so don’t expect me to come to any night outs any time soon.”

Brown shrugged. “Yeah, whatever.” He walked off.

Now, Harry rolled his eyes. He looked at the others that were still there. “Any more questions or comments?”

Macmillian took a step forward. “You never stuck to rules back in Hogwarts.”

“Hard to when people were trying to kill me,” Harry scoffed. When there seemed to be no more comments, he started to walk back to his office, preparing himself for Ron’s freak-out over their doubled work load.

He frowned when he realised that there were two people following him. Turning so that his back rested against his office door, he said, “Can I help you?”

The two Aurors glanced at each other.

“Actually,” said one, “we thought we could help you with some of Williams and Keith’s cases. Robards hasn’t given us nearly as much work.”

“Oh.” Harry glanced down at his tea. “Sorry, what are your names?”

“Auror Haart,” said the same Auror. “You can call me Grace. And this is Auror Florence Shafiq.”

“Hi,” Shafiq said.

“Okay, you may as well come in, then.” Harry opened the door, and found that Ron was already there, glaring mutinously at the pile of case folders on their desks.

“How could you, Harry?” Ron whined.

“Aurors Haart and Shafiq have offered to help,” Harry said, letting them walk into the office too.

Ron gave a huge sigh of relief. “Thanks!”

“We’ll just take the top half, for now,” Haart said, “and we’ll come by once we get them done.”

“Thanks,” Harry said gratefully.

Haart waved her hand at the files, and half of them floated over to her and Shafiq. “You’re welcome.” Haart left the room first, but Shafiq hanged back at the door.

“A warning,” she said. “You should watch out for Cricke. It’s an open secret that he has anti-werewolf sentiments, and actions to back them up. And with your case...”

Harry nodded grimly. “Thanks, I didn’t know.”

Shafiq smiled wryly back. “He doesn’t say that stuff around you because he knows you’ll challenge him.” She departed without another word.

Harry closed the door and turned to Ron.

Ron looked uncharacteristically serious. “I think we’re starting to uncover something delicate. From what I see though, the stuff about the ex-Death Eaters and the werewolves are separate.”

Harry drew his wand and duplicated their secret investigation case file. “There. Now we have one for each. The thefts aren’t nearly as life-threatening as the anti-werewolf behaviour.”

Ron’s jaw tightened. “I wonder if Bill gets harassed.”

Harry pursed his lips. “He’s a bit high-profile, and not a complete werewolf. But we’ll have to ask.”

Ron shook his head. “Right, get to work, Harry. We’re going to pull hours to rival Hermione’s. She’s going to be _so_ proud of us.”

Harry chuckled a little, and Ron grinned.

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said, heartfelt.

Ron just rolled his eyes. “What for? We’re mates and we’re in this together.”

“Then you’ll be alright with having Malfoy’s parole meeting later today?”

“May as well get it over and done with,” Ron said evenly.

It was easy to owl Malfoy to come to the Ministry, and Harry and Ron took care to escort Malfoy directly from the floos to the interrogation room—with an added benefit that the walk was a break from all their paperwork.

“My own Auror guard,” Malfoy said, once they were in the interrogation room.

“With the recent attack, we can’t just let you walk through the Ministry by yourself,” Ron said.

“And those Aurors who basically kidnapped you—Keith and Williams—are now suspended,” Harry added.

Malfoy nodded. “There were three Aurors who took me from Knockturn.”

Harry put his face in hands. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” He let Ron go through the parole meeting procedures as he tried to think about which other Aurors he needed to keep an eye on.

“I hope Robards appreciates all the detailed reports,” Ron said, as he slipped Malfoy’s responses into his rather thick file.

“That you are both very good at paperwork and documentation,” Malfoy said.

Ron wrinkled his nose. “As long as Robards doesn’t give us more desk duty.” Ron nudged Harry. “Mate, ready to escort Malfoy back?”

Harry blinked. “Yeah. Malfoy, don’t forget about Andromeda, yeah?”

“I shan’t.”

Harry and Ron took Malfoy back to the Ministry floos and headed back again to their office.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be too good at what we do,” Ron said idly.

Harry immediately shook his head. “You haven’t been down to Filings nearly as often as I have. We should have as good paperwork as we can lest Eric gets even more annoyed.”

“Poor guy,” Ron said, but he conceded. “Alright.”


	7. Chapter 7

Draco had tried to chase up some of his other old friends from Hogwarts—to catch up with them, and to see if they could help with the campaign—and found out that Greg was going to be released soon.

Remembering his own experience with returning from Azkaban, Draco tried to owl Greg’s mother, but the owl returned, letter unopened. When he asked his mother about it, she mentioned that Greg’s mother had left the country after the War, and her whereabouts were unknown.

“But she wasn’t a Death Eater,” Draco said. “I can understand leaving the country, but disappearing altogether?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Narcissa had replied.

So Draco tried to wait but Narcissa found nothing substantial; Mrs. Goyle had covered her tracks well, and it was obvious that she didn’t want to be found.

With nothing left to lose, Draco tried to floo the Goyle household, just to see whether Malfoy Manor’s floo connection there still held, and whether the wards would let Draco in.

It worked, Draco found himself, intact, in the dusty, musty drawing room of the Goyles’ old home.

Draco immediately cast an air purifying spell around him and opened the windows. The house was deserted...and there went his last hope that Mrs. Goyle was hiding in plain sight. But it firmed Draco’s resolve. If Greg’s mother couldn’t be here, then _Draco_ , Greg’s friend, would be here for him.

With that, Draco called over some of the cleaning house-elf staff to air out the rooms, dust all the surfaces, wash all the linen and bedding and clothing and to restock the kitchen.

:::

It was with anticipation that Draco waited in the drawing room on the day of Greg’s return.

The floo flared—but it wasn’t Greg who stepped through, but Millicent Bulstrode.

“Mills!” Draco stood up and shook Millicent’s hand. “You didn’t replied to my owl.”

Millicent ran a hand through her short spiky hair. “Yeah, well, I’m here, aren’t I?” She shrugged off her leather jacket and threw it carelessly on the lounge. “Where’s Mrs. Goyle?”

Draco shook his head. “We haven’t been able to locate her. Would you like some tea?”

“I’ll wait for Greg first,” Millicent said drily. “When is he coming?”

“Some time today.” Draco said.

Millicent snorted and sat down. “You always did like to be at the center of attention, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco said.

Millicent raised her eyebrows. “Only a few months out of Azkaban and I hear your name down the grapevine.”

Draco fixed Millicent with a serious look. “I’m no hermit.”

Millicent shrugged. “I would’ve taken a holiday first. Do you have any places in northern England? I wouldn’t mind a swankier place for me and the gang to hangout.”

“ _Gang_?” Draco narrowed his eyes. “Mills, what have you been up to the last few years?”

Millicent blinked. “I meant it figuratively.”

“No, you did not.”

“Did too.”

Draco raised a hand. “We will discuss this on a later date.”

Right then, the flames turned green.

Millicent snorted but she stood up, just as Greg stumbled through. Immediately, she was there, bodily catching Greg before he fell. She manhandled him to the lounge.

“Hey there, kid,” Millicent said gruffly.

“Hello,” Draco said more softly.

He hoped the Greg they knew—the one that was their friend—was still there. Greg hadn’t stayed in Azkaban much longer than Draco, but Draco had seen some of the inmates spiral much quicker, much sooner. And unfortunately—or fortunately—Draco didn’t heard Greg’s voice amongst the others.

Greg coughed, blinking rapidly. “Mills? Draco?” he rasped. He looked around. “What are you doing here? Where’s my mum?”

“I came here to see you,” Millicent said. She glanced at Draco. “We don’t know where your mum is.”

Greg’s eyes closed. “Right.”

“Mind if I just cast some quick refreshing spells?” Draco asked, ignoring Millicent’s snort.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Draco did a gentle cleaning spell, both on Greg and on his clothes. He also sent a general purpose energy spell for good measure.

“Up for some tea?” Millicent said.

Greg still looked dazed. “Is this real? Why are you being so nice?”

“I think Draco’s rubbed off on me,” Millicent said drily.

Greg frowned.

“Alright, you’re having tea,” Millicent said firmly. “Wait here and I’ll fetch it. _Don’t move_.”

At that, Greg’s frown smoothed. “Yes, ma’am.”

Millicent also glared at Draco for no apparent reason, before stomping off to the kitchen.

“How are you?” Draco asked.

“Could be worse,” Greg said wryly. “What have you been up to?”

“I was in Azkaban until a few months ago,” Draco said grimly. “But since then...a lot things have happened, but we can talk about _after_ Mills feeds you.”

Millicent had just returned, with tea and plates of food that the house-elves had prepared earlier.

Greg breathed in deeply. “Salazar, that smells great.”

Draco watched with amusement as Millicent directed Greg to eat _this_ first, and then drink _this_ next and so forth. Greg remained as haggard and his eyes as sunken in as when he first appeared, but his face became calmer, and his movements a little more energetic.

“Now that you’re out, what would you like to do?” Draco asked.

Greg frowned.

“ _No_ , Draco,” Millicent chastised. “Greg is now going straight to bed and you’re _not_ going to interrogate him now. _Right_ , Greg?”

“I’d like to rest,” Greg admitted.

Draco conceded. “Very well. There will be house-elves around, cleaning up and keeping the kitchen stocked. I’ll be at Malfoy Manor.”

Greg nodded. “Thanks.”

“Now shoo,” Millicent said.

:::

With the knowledge that Millicent had things under control in relation to Greg, Draco finally sent an owl to Andromeda, as he had promised Potter.

Andromeda sent a message back, requesting a first initial meeting at a cafe down Diagon Alley. Draco replied with an affirmative.

The meeting with Andromeda was set during the day, when Teddy Lupin was apparently at some preschool.

He wondered what message Andromeda was implying by choosing one of the popular cafes smack in the middle of Diagon Alley—an expensive wizarding-muggle fusion sort of place. _Well_ , Draco was going to make his own statement. He paired a white mugglish shirt and trousers with a long white over-cape that feathered at the end—never again would he go out in public with a short muggle blazer coat. Pansy laughed outright when he appeared with it, and Blaise chuckled.

“I have an image to uphold,” Draco told them sternly.

Blaise didn’t stopped grinning even as he braided Draco’s hair. “Everyone is going to be looking at you.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “The press would be good when our campaign goes live. Blaise, have you thought of running a charity fashion show?”

“Ugh, Draco, stop giving me more things to do,” Blaise said easily. “I’ll see if some of the _others_ have something they’d like to show off. There, done.”

Pansy looked him over. “A very curious image indeed,” she smirked. “Don’t do anything illegal out there.”

Draco straightened and smirked back. “Of course. Wish me luck.”

“Giving you Felicis would be unethical,” Pansy said lightly.

Draco made a face at her and strode off.

To Draco’s surprise, his mother was waiting for him in the floo room.

“You’re going to meet Andi, now,” Narcissa said. She passed a small, ornate box into Draco’s hands.

Draco nodded. “Yes.”

Narcissa grimaced. “Has she said anything about me? The letter I sent her hasn’t returned, but neither has any reply.”

Draco put on an apologetic expression. “She hasn’t.”

Narcissa straightened. “Very well. Have a nice meeting.” Then, she smiled. “And what on earth are you wearing?”

Draco tilted his head. “Courtesy of Blaise Zabini. Mother, you should ask _him_ to design something for you. He hasn’t had any distinguished models such as yourself of late.”

Narcissa gave Draco an unimpressed look, but she had a small smile on her lips. “I’ll see.”

“Alright, bye, Mother.”

Draco flooed to his Knockturn office. Everything seemed in order and so he headed off.

As Draco swept down Diagon Alley, his cape billowed satisfyingly as any robe. He focused on having a neutral, but somewhat positive, expression.

Despite arriving on location a little early, Andromeda was already there, seated on one of the tables outside.

 _Very public_ , Draco thought.

She looked a lot more like Bellatrix than Narcissa—that was, if Bellatrix would ever deign to wear mugglish clothing.

Andromeda was watching the street, and as with the other street goers, her gaze quickly fixed on Draco. Her eyebrows went up, her face sceptical.

“Good morning, Aunt Andromeda,” Draco said genially, slipping into the chair opposite her. “Have you ordered?” He cast a discreet privacy charm, which Andromeda definitely noticed but said nothing of.

Andromeda regarded him. “Draco. I have not.”

Draco smiled faintly back. “Given that I requested this meeting, let me get something for you. Some tea, at least?”

Andromeda looked ready to decline, but she ultimately nodded. “A black tea, cream but no sugar.”

“Thank you. I’ll go an order at the counter.” Draco stood up and quickly put the small box in front of Andromeda. “Oh, and my mother wanted to give you this.” He waited just long enough to see Andromeda’s surprised expression before he quickly went inside the cafe.

By the time he returned to their table, Andromeda was closing up the box again and tucking it away. She gave him a flat look, and so Draco smartly kept quiet as he put down their cups of tea. Personally, he had gotten himself a latte—with enough milk that it was basically milk with tea flavouring.

Draco sipped his milk as Andromeda sipped her tea.

“How are you, Aunt Andromeda? And your grandson? I heard that you aren’t living at Grimmauld Place.”

Andromeda narrowed her eyes. “I’m fine, and Teddy has just started preschool. Wizarding, if you have to know. His hair and facial features change too often to risk a muggle place. He’s learning numbers right now. As for _Grimmauld Place_...”

“Potter told me a bit, about his place. I imagine that he would have offered it back to you.”

“It’s not a nice place, and it doesn’t have nice memories,” Andromeda said. “And Teddy, he needs space to run around, and Grimmauld Place and London don’t have space.”

Draco nodded, smiling a little. “He sounds energetic. And I agree. I much prefer Malfoy Manor and the countryside, than living in _London_.”

Andromeda leaned forward. “Now tell me about yourself, Draco. That’s the purpose of this, after all.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “An interrogation?” he said lightly. “Surely Potter regaled you with what I’ve been up to lately.”

Andromeda raised an eyebrow in response. “And why would that be?”

“He _didn’t?_ He’s one of my parole Aurors,” Draco said. “Did I not make an impression on him? He followed me around back at school, if you must know.”

At that, Andromeda cracked a smile. “He does talk about you, especially in the last few weeks,” she admitted. “He really wants...he really wants people to be friends with each other.”

Draco shook his head fondly. “Potter’s in the wrong job if he wants that. A lot of things have happened in the last few months since I was released from Azkaban.”

At the word ‘Azkaban’, Andromeda’s jaw tightened, so Draco quickly continued with the present.

“What I’m doing isn’t as lofty as making everyone friends,” Draco said, “but to unlock all the gold stuck in the Malfoy vaults. It’s not _doing_ anything useful there, not when there are people who need it right now. I’m sure you’ve read the papers.”

“With a helping of salt,” she said drily.

The corner of Draco’s lips quirked up. “In that case, yes, I am indeed offering housing to any and all that need it. If you come down Knockturn Alley, we have a daily dinner offering anyone regardless of monetary status. You could come, if you wish—and even with Teddy. Potter’s been by a few times.”

Andromeda’s eyes narrowed a little. “And on what terms?”

“There’s nothing to sign to just come for dinner,” Draco said. “It’s just like other eating establishment, only there is nothing to pay at the end. You could donate, once the Ministry gets through our charity registration paperwork.”

“You’re more like Harry than you think, if you’re starting a _charity_. But, we’ll see,” Andromeda conceded. “It sounds like you have been quite productive.”

Draco nodded. “My friends think I’m a bit _too_ productive.”

“But do you find that a problem?”

“Not yet.”

Andromeda settled back. “Then it isn’t.”

Draco paused and glanced at the table, thinking about Mother’s box—or rather, Andromeda’s box. “Aunt Andromeda...you’re also welcome to come to the Manor for lunch with me, or with my mother. The gardens are truly beautiful—all credit to the house-elves—and there is more than enough space for young Teddy to play in.”

Andromeda snorted. “ _I_ will conduct my affairs relating to your mother without your interference, Draco. You know not of what has transpired between us.”

Draco smiled contritely. “I spoke out of turn,” he said solemnly.

“I’m glad,” Andromeda said, apropos of nothing.

Draco looked at her quizzically. “Of what?”

“You’ve grown into a fine young man.”

“Ah. I had a lot of time to think in Azkaban,” Draco said quietly.

Andromeda had a strange look on her face. “Yes. But you could have gone another direction. To insanity, or hatred.”

“Bellatrix was already...before she went to Azkaban.”

Andromeda grimaced as she gave a slight nod. “That is true.”

“Potter gave a testimony at my trial. He had expected better of me.” Draco looked Andromeda in the eye. “I expected better of myself. But you didn’t.”

“Draco, I didn’t _know_ you before,” Andromeda said sternly.

“How do you know if I’m a ‘fine young man’ _now_?” Draco pressed on. “I’m obviously going to tell you good things.”

“But these are what _you_ now perceive as good. Draco, _let me make up my own mind_.”

Draco winced. “But...you might have heard that I’ve been involved with some werewolves. I was bought into the Ministry just over a week ago for it.”

“Do you know who Teddy’s father is?”

“The late Professor Lupin.”

“Precisely.” Andromeda’s jaw’s squared. “I could care less about what the majority of werewolves get up to. But take my word, I rejoiced when they finally caught Fenrir Greyback.” Her eyes were sharp and unrepentant.

“That must have happened while I was still in Azkaban,” Draco murmured. “I don’t remember seeing him come in, though. But then again, I was out-of-it most of the time.”

“It was a few years ago,” Andromeda said shortly.

Draco nodded. It was clear that Andromeda didn’t like any mention of Azkaban.

“However, if I may say, you _should_ care for the majority of werewolves if you can,” Draco said slowly. “The majority of them are still disfavoured among our common society. Wolfsbane, seven days every month, is expensive on any typical budget. If anything, the prices for them have been inflated far beyond from before.”

“Teddy isn’t a werewolf,” Andromeda interrupted sharply.

Draco nodded. “I see, but this isn’t about Teddy. This is about everyone else. There are laws that must be overturned, and it will involve me working closely with more werewolves. I would love to meet Teddy,” Draco added, “but I want you to know that certain things are about to happen. Despite hating it as a child, I’m about to dip my toes into the fringes of politicking.”

Andromeda raised one eyebrow. “And you’re not going to tell me what it is?”

“I haven’t asked Pansy if I could,” Draco admitted.

Andromeda shook her head, but there was a smile on her lips. “Draco, let me make my own mind and my own decisions. Teddy would be interested in meeting you. I will organise a time when Harry can come along as well.”

“Oh.” Draco slowly smiled.

“Well now, I must be going. It’s time for me to pick Teddy up from his preschool.”

Andromeda stood up, and Draco followed suit.

“I’ll owl you,” she told him. “And good luck.”

“Thank you,” Draco said sincerely.

And they parted ways.

:::

Andromeda’s approval gave Draco a boost in confidence (and workaholism, if Blaise was to be believed). In the afternoon, Draco, Pansy, Lisa and Lovegood all gathered in Lovegood’s Quibbler office to hash out the article that would be released the next day. Or rather, the shorter front-page article and the longer in-depth additional insert.

Lisa’s name won’t appear in the article, but Draco’s will, along with Lovegood’s. Granger had already provided quotes from herself to include ahead of time.

And at the end of day, they all went to the Knockturn dining hall for dinner.

“You’ve been invaluable,” Draco repeated to Lisa yet again.

“Stop rubbing it in,” Lisa shot back. “I regret the day I decided to talk to you.”

Draco smiled not-fondly. “Yes, that fateful day.”

“On a serious note, stay away from public areas tomorrow,” Pansy interrupted. “It would be good to tell anyone whose status is known. I suspect that we”—here, she shot Draco a look—“will be spending tomorrow sorting out mail.”

“I know what I signed up for,” Lisa said, rolling her eyes. “I’m headed off.” She smirked at Draco. “And don’t work too hard.”

“I do _not_ ,” Draco muttered as Lisa left.

“Now off you go,” Pansy told Draco.

“You’re not leaving yet?”

“I’m going to talk with Luna some more,” she said.

Lovegood turned around at the sound of her name—she was chatting with some of the other dining guests. She gave a smile and a wave.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Very well. I shall see you tomorrow.”

:::

On the next morning, Draco woke up with a smirk on his face. There was a copy of the day’s Quibbler, delivered a few hours advanced.

There was a small image of Draco (in white), standing as the campaign’s backer, as well as a larger picture taken from behind—as to obscure identity—of some people who were werewolves, out in the sunny gardens of Malfoy Manor.

> _**CALLS FOR THE MINISTRY TO ABOLISH WEREWOLF REGISTRY** _

> _Werewolf Register is illegal in accordance to Ministry Equal Rights Act, says Draco Malfoy._

> Luna Lovegood, Editor

> Despite the introduction of the Equality Act, the Ministry continues to treat its citizens unequally. People with the condition known as _lycanthropy_ are subjected to constant Ministry surveillance and are denied jobs and housing.

> The Werewolf Register was created by Newt Scamander in 1947. It is maintained by the Werewolf Registry, within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

> Draco Malfoy, however, argues that the Werewolf Register and Registry has no place in our modern, post-War times.

> “There was a reason the Voldemort-led Ministry kept the Werewolf Register,” Malfoy told the _Quibbler_. “True criminals, such as Fenrir Greyback, were not even listed. Instead, it was innocent citizens—heroes, even, such as Remus Lupin—who were forced on the Register.”

> Hermione Granger, from the Minister’s Office, said, “The Equal Rights Act is one of the proudest achievements of the Ministry after the War. We don’t monitor other innocent citizens, and neither should we monitor those unfortunate enough to have lycanthropy.”

> In continuation, Malfoy replied, “The Werewolf Register is illegal under the Ministry’s Equal Rights Act and it’s illegal under International Wizarding Law. The Universial Declaration Of Rights For Beings And Creatures was ratified in 1948, merely a year after the establishment of the Werewolf Register.”

> “They [Aurors] follow me around,” said Asil, which is not their real name. Asil was turned during the War by one of Gregback’s gang.

> Asil continued, “I was on the streets because my parents kicked me out for having lycanthropy, and the Aurors did nothing. But I received no help from the Ministry. I wasn’t eligible for welfare, I was turned down at every job, I had no money. Instead, when I was given Wolfsbane, Aurors would come and take it away from me.”

> Asil’s story is all too common. Greyback, in particular, had been criminally active for over two decades before his capture in 1999. Known for targeting children, Wizarding Britain now has an unprecedented number of people with lycanthropy, but no measures to aid them.

> “There are no grounds upon which these Aurors can take the Wolfsbane,” said Pansy Parkinson, lawyer. “I sincerely hope the Ministry abolishes the Werewolf Register and do their duty in helping the vulnerable among us. If not...I will take the Ministry to court.”

> “Let’s be on the right side of history,” said Granger. “The future is for every person, every being, every creature to their fundamental rights realised and to live in peace and harmony. We have the Equal Rights Act. It’s time to put it in action.”

> * _See the special insert in today’s edition of the_ Quibbler _to learn more about lycanthropy and its history._

Draco put on flaring white robes that glittered and descended to the breakfast room. Pansy was there, with Lovegood sitting next to her.

“Dramatic,” Pansy shot back at him.

Lovegood grinned. “You look fantastic!”

“I’m merely preparing for the inevitable press interviews today,” Draco said.

“Be patient,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes. “We have some work to do first.”

:::

It was the dullest kind of work, Draco thought. They were in his Knockturn office, where the owls were arriving, and the novelty of long-distance Vanishing of distinctive red Howlers quickly became boring and tedious. Finally Pansy told him to just cast a ward that caused any Howlers to disappear the owls passed it.

Unfortunately, Draco didn’t want to destroy all the remaining letters lest they contained anything important. So once that ward was set up, Draco went about curse-checking the letters, and then quickly skimming to see if there was anything useful or positive.

Even more unfortunately, there was nothing good, but that didn’t stop Draco. Pansy had to drag him away to go have lunch, and she wouldn’t let him continue after lunch either, as Lovegood had flooed to tell them of other reporters who wanted an interview, and Pansy had Lovegood schedule some of the more reputably even-minded ones after lunch.

Draco decided to hold them in the Knockturn dining room—it was a big, impressive space (and his office was filled with unopened letters). Pansy was there, too, to cut off reporters when they started down questions they should not have asked.

The interviews went right up to dinner, and Draco was unsurprised to see many more, unsolicited, reporters at the door and none of their usual guests. He had already directed the house-elves to deliver food directly to the dining room’s usual guests, and there were house-elves, hidden, watching the front for their less-frequent guests that might have accidentally come.

“This is a safe space,” he told the reporters, “and please keep the noise down. No photography of people unless you have their expressed permission,” he added pointedly.

Not that they listened to him, but then again, they were literally taking photos of other reporters, and of Draco, Blaise, Pansy and Lovegood.

“We could cast a hex on all image recording devices,” Pansy said darkly. “All the flashing is putting me off my dinner.”

“Do you know of a visual equivalent of a muffliato?” Draco said.

“No, but there should be one,” Pansy sighed. She looked over her shoulder and glared at some reporters. “Be civilised!” she growled at them. “Take photos of your food, not of other people. Or I’ll _sue_ you,” she threatened. “Oh, I know _all_ you names, Forster, Grae, Park...should I go on?”

Draco watched with interest as the reporters flushed and looked away. The lighting in the hall finally evened out.

“I though I wasn’t allowed to intimidate others,” Draco said idly.

“ _You’re_ not,” Pansy said dismissively.

Blaise chuckled.

Lovegood also smiled. “I could set the Nargles on them, if you wish.”

“You’re better off setting them on the Aurors that have been hanging around,” Draco said.

“No work talk,” Pansy decreed. “Now let me eat in peace. Talk about the weather, if you must. Or the disastrous state of Draco’s fashion sense.”

“He _has_ none,” Blaise interjected.

Pansy smirked. “Precisely.”

:::

Draco woke up the next day with a groan. Everything had sounded good, when Granger had first mentioned abolishing the Werewolf Register. But spending all morning, and then all night, after dinner, going through letters, hunched over his desk, had put an ache in his neck.

He put on some functional white robes and headed down for breakfast. He noted that Lisa was there too—peculiar, given that she had a place in London.

“I need to speak to you right after,” Pansy informed him. “About the case, and the charity.”

“Me too, actually,” Lisa added. “It’s about Celia.”

Draco looked at her blankly.

“Robards’ daughter.” Lisa rolled her eyes.

Draco agreed, and so after breakfast, they went to Draco’s office.

“Due to our campaign, the case has been expedited,” Pansy began right away. “The defendant wasn’t on the Werewolf Register, but they had been suspected of lycanthropy, according to various reports Auror Potter uncovered.”

“Who moved the case forward?” Draco frowned. “Was it Robards?”

Pansy glanced at Lisa. “No,” Pansy said. “It was from the Minister’s Office. The trial is set for tomorrow, _assuming_ they don’t suddenly move it up to today. I’ll have to go to the Ministry and stay with our defendant at all times, just in case the Minister’s Office _tries_ something. It’s bad enough that they even _thought_ to move the trial to Saturday, and unfortunately it might well happen on a Friday night.” Pansy made a face. “I had plans.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Did they agree to be plaintiff versus the Ministry? And plans with Lovegood, I assume?”

“My plans are none of your business,” Pansy said promptly. She sighed. “They were hesitant when I asked, and with their trial suddenly approaching, I don’t think it’s the right time.”

“Why do you need a plaintiff?” Lisa asked.

Draco nodded to Pansy, who explained.

“Ideally, the public will be on our side with the abolishment of the Werewolf Register, along with a number of other related laws,” Pansy said. “In the best case scenario, someone from the Wizengamot will put forward a bill and have changes made that way. However, it’s unlikely than any _will—_ and if so, the next most straightforward way is to take the Ministry to court.”

Lisa wrinkled her nose. “That sounds overly expensive and complicated.” And then she looked at Draco. “Right, which is your thing.”

“Pansy’s a lawyer,” Draco added. “She _wants_ to fight the Ministry.”

Pansy cracked her knuckles. “One way or another,” she smirked. “To take the Ministry to court though, we need someone to claim that the laws have negatively and unfairly and unequally impacted them.”

Lisa looked at both of them. “You didn’t ask me.”

“No,” Draco said, contritely. “I didn’t think you would want to out yourself to all of the Wizengamot, and possibly the public as well.”

“We can have more than one plaintiff,” Pansy added, “If you’re willingly.”

Lisa gave a minute shake of her head. “I’ll think about.”

Pansy nodded. “Therefore, to summarise, I won’t be able to help you today, Draco. I’ll be at the Ministry all day.”

“And the charity?”

“I suspect that the papers have been _misplaced_ ,” Pansy said. “You’ll need to file them again.”

“I’ll give _every_ administrator a copy if I need to,” Draco said.

“Something more _helpful_ would be to get either Potter or Granger to come with you. Both will support your application, and with their names, the Ministry won’t act so sloppily.”

“I’ll do that today, then.” Draco turned to Lisa. “Now, what’s this about Robards’ daughter?”

Lisa gave Draco an unimpressed look. “Her name is Celia, stop forgetting it.”

“Celia Robards,” Draco repeated.

Lisa gathered herself. “I reached out to her—sent her an owl a few days ago, and we met at a muggle cafe yesterday.”

Pansy looked thoughtfully at Lisa. “What did you get from her? She’s the main witness against my defendant.”

“As it turns out, Celia’s a Healer. And she’s currently undertaking a PhD in Werewolf medicine.” Lisa gave a measured look at both of them. “She was working towards improvements to Wolfsbane.”

Draco inhaled. “This goes deeper,” he muttered.

Lisa grimaced. “Sounds so. Celia’s smart, and she’s a werewolf now, too. I think she understands. She told me about the pressure to sign into the Werewolf Register, to the point that papers had been written up for her. But she hasn’t consented to give them any of her blood and she hasn’t signed anything. I think she could be a good witness to your case against the Ministry.”

“You could get a PhD too,” Draco pointed out. “I’d fund whatever higher education you may want.”

“Draco Malfoy, _you_ don’t have higher education,” Lisa shot back.

“You didn’t even get your NEWTs, Draco” Pansy added, smirking.

“These facts are not relevant,” Draco said pointedly.

“I’ll talk to Celia when I find time,” said Pansy. “In the meantime, you could invite her here.”

“Between recovering from the attack, and her studies, I don’t know if she has time, but I’ll see,” Lisa said dubiously.

“Is there anything else anyone wants to say?”

Pansy and Lisa shook their heads.

Draco clapped his hands. “Then, meeting adjoined. It’s time to get to work.”

The two of them left.

From his desk drawer, Draco took out the copies of the charity registration, and made a couple more for good measure. He placed one set in a file that he’d take to the Ministry personally. Another two, he attached to two owls to Potter and Granger, requesting that they meet him on the Ministry floor.

His functional robes were exchanged for something of a formal, traditional cut—albeit still white. Potter’s owl returned an affirmative, and Draco flooed to his office.

He groaned at the sight of all the unopened letters, vowing to set up some spells that’ll sort through them automatically. But he first had to continue out onto the alley.

A spell whistled past him.

Draco gave a big almighty sigh and turned around, ducking as another angry red spell went overhead. There were a handful of assailants, all dressed in drab black robes, their faces uncovered.

Draco committed those faces to memory.

“What do you want?” Draco called out, weaving past one spell, and throwing up a shield charm for another.

“We’re not stupid,” one of them said. “We know you’re trying to recreate the werewolf army from the War.”

Draco thought that if they had to preface their sentence with ‘we’re not stupid’, then they probably were. “And how am I supposed to do that? Humour me? Is this about the Werewolf Register? Because that was set up by Newt Scamander decades before the recent War.”

“You’ve been giving money to those no-good low-lifes!” one snarled.

Draco cast a _protego_ to block a particularly nasty looking spell. Upon himself, he cast a weakened _sonorus_. “Perhaps you should educate yourself on _why_ some werewolves joined the Dark Lord in the first place,” Draco said mildly. He threw up yet another shield, and then quickly conjured up a paper crane. “Find someone who will help,” he whispered to it, before blowing it up and away. In the same breath, he cast strong winds to whistle down the alleyway, throwing black robes messily into the air.

He took a few quick steps backwards, towards an alternative exit from Knockturn Alley to a different street. A quick glance around told him that Knockturn Alley was suddenly very empty, and the shops there were open just a few minutes ago were all closed up.

Ah, the pitfalls of Knockturn.

Draco’s attackers continued attacking; Draco continued to slowly edge towards escape.

“Stop right there!”

Draco turned, and he found himself amused to see none other than _Harry Potter_ with Draco’s paper crane nested in his hair.

The assailants were jubilant. “We’ve got you now, Malfoy! Justice will be served! Arrest him, Harry Potter!”

Draco neatly side-stepped a spell, eyebrow raising when it hit the ground near Potter’s feet.

“That’s _Auror_ Potter to you. Stop your casting this instant. You’re under arrest,” Potter said, striding right past Draco.

Draco smirked inwardly at their confusion and protests. Another Auror—Weasley—popped in right behind them when they tried to back away from Potter, and Potter and Weasley quick got them tied up.

“Malfoy, you’ll have to come in, too, so that we can get your statement,” Weasley said.

“Sorry, your charity registration will have to wait, if you want me to come with you,” Potter said apologetically. “Me and Ron need to deal with _this_.”

“Of course,” Draco said.

Potter and Ron apparated them to an empty room, which opened right into the Ministry cells.

Weasley lead Draco to a separate room to be questioned. To Weasley’s credit, he was quick and efficient.

“You’ve given us a lot of work,” Weasley said, once the questioning had concluded.

Draco gave him a pointed look. “ _I’ve_ given myself a lot of work.”

Weasley snorted. “Fair enough.”

He and Draco went opposite ways. As Draco was leaving, he saw, through the glass, that Potter was still questioning his attackers...but the paper crane was no longer on Potter’s head.

Draco breathed in and gathered himself together. He was in the Ministry, and he still had his charity registration papers.

Draco took the lift right up to the Minister’s Office. The receptionist glared at him.

“I would like to speak to Hermione Granger,” he said politely.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I would appreciate it if you can alert her of my presence.”

“Appointments only.”

“In that case, can you please set up an appointment with her for me?”

“I’m not Hermione Granger’s secretary.”

“Malfoy, what are you still doing here?” Weasley said. He was carrying two paper bags.

“I wanted to see Granger,” Draco told him. “I need something registered...and it appears that the Ministry has ‘lost’ my papers.”

“Lost, you say. Robert,” Weasley addressed the receptionist, “You haven’t seen Draco Malfoy’s papers, have you?”

“No,” Robert said, glaring at Draco.

Weasley sighed. “Fine, Malfoy, come with me and we’ll see what Hermione can do.”

Robert continued glaring.

Granger’s office was extremely neat and colour coordinated.

“Ron! Malfoy!”

“Got your lunch,” Weasley said, handing her one of the paper bags. He promptly took out a sandwich from his remaining bag.

“Thanks, Ron. Malfoy, I got your owl, but I hadn’t time to reply.”

Draco looked at all the papers on her desk and smirked. “I can see that. Potter offered, but he’s currently busy.”

Granger slid a look at Weasley.

“Malfoy was attacked down Knockturn,” Weasley supplied. “Harry had headed out early to meet up with Malfoy, and he called me for backup when he realised.”

Granger frowned. “Attacked? In the middle of the day?”

“The Ministry misplacing my registration forms seems rather minor in comparison,” Draco mused.

“Alright, Malfoy, right after I eat lunch, I’ll personally process them for you,” Granger said firmly.

“This is far below your status.”

“I had to do some admin work in the years before,” Granger said drily. “I know how it works.”

“In that case,” Draco took out his file and handed them to Granger. “I will be in your debt if you get these through for me. Keep your other copy in your personal files.”

“What are you both talking about?” Weasley said, half eaten sandwich in one hand.

“Malfoy’s finally setting up a charity to formally include all the charitable things he has been doing. And it’s tax-exempt.”

“You’re not _supposed_ to tell him that,” Weasley said, exasperated. “That’s a lot like Harry, though, isn’t it? Setting up an entire charity.”

“Circumstances meant Potter got there first,” Draco said with a sniff.

Weasley snorted and Granger rolled her eyes.

“Anything else?” Granger asked.

Draco paused. He was right in the Minister’s Office, and Granger was the only person he trusted in the Office. “There is something, but what I want to ask should not leave this room unless you tread very carefully.”

Weasley took out his wand and cast a privacy charm. “What is it?”

“The werewolf attack case.” Draco regarded Weasley and Granger: they both showed signs of recognition, so Draco continued, “The trial has been moved forward. Extremely peculiar for a Ministry that likes to drags it heels on everything else.”

“Then Celia must have requested it,” Granger said.

Draco shook his head. “The order came from the Minister’s Office.”

Granger’s eyes narrowed. “ _Really_?”

Even Weasley frowned. “They’re not meant to interfere with the Aurors’ business.”

“And do you know what Celia was doing— _is_ doing? She’s working on bettering the lives of werewolves through an enhanced Wolfsbane.”

Weasley gave a low whistle. “Someone in the office doesn’t like it.”

“ _Most_ of the people in this office don’t like werewolves,” Granger growled. “It could be _anyone_.”

“It would be good if you could both keep an ear out for anything else going on,” Draco said.

Granger nodded. “I will. Anything else you want to drop on us?”

Draco smiled. “Not yet, but many things are in progress.”

“D’you know the way out?” Weasley asked.

“Yes. Thanks, Weasley, Granger.” Draco took his leave.

Now, those piles of letters were calling him.

:::

:::

:::

With the werewolf case, Harry and Ron became even more piled deep under work—Harry was extremely glad that Auror Haart came by to pick up a couple more of Williams and Keith’s old case files.

Malfoy’s request for Harry’s presence in filing the charity papers was so much like an opportunity to temporarily escape the Auror office that Harry left early—only to encounter Malfoy’s paper crane and his attackers.

The moment Harry finished questioning, charging, and setting trials dates for those who had attacked Malfoy—given their planned attempt to severely injure Malfoy, Harry personally thought some prison time was in order, even if it weren’t in Azkaban—one of the Aurors came up to Harry and told him that the werewolf case trial was about to start in under five minutes.

Harry was absolutely ready to hex someone. “It’s supposed to be _tomorrow!_ ” he growled, stomping as he followed the other Auror to the court room. “Have you contacted Solicitor Parkinson?”

The Auror gave him a weird look. “No, she’s been here all day.”

Harry was relieved at that. And very annoyed that she had clearly thought that this surprise trial would happen and hadn’t mentioned it to Harry.

Harry saw Parkinson the moment he entered—she was wearing the standard deep blue solicitor robes, and she looked like she was out for blood.

He was surprised to see Celia chatting with Parkinson though, and he idly wondered what they were up to, because they were _definitely_ up to something.

“Ah, Auror Potter,” Judge Shafiq said, voice carrying throughout the room. “All take a seat, the trial is about to begin.”

The Ministry’s prosecutor stood up. “May it please the court, I am Solicitor White and I appear for the prosecution.”

Parkinson also stood. “If it pleases the court, I am Solictor Parkinson and I appear for the defendant.”

Judge Shafiq nodded and the two solictors sat down. Shafiq proceeded to read out the charges.

Harry listened with a firmed jaw. Failure to register as a werewolf. Failure to take Wolfsbane. Failure to isolate themselves. Failure to lock themselves in a room on the full moon. _Intent_ on those failures. And intent on attacking and grievously harming Celia Robards.

These weren’t the charges that Harry had written down anywhere in the case file.

“Robin Smith, do you plead guilty or not guilty to these charges?” Shafiq ended.

Robin stood up. “Not guilty,” they said with barely a tremble in their voice.

A disgruntled murmur went through the Wizengamot. Shafiq ignored them and called up White to commence.

Harry had worked with Solicitor White in the past—a man who was necessarily an extremely good prosecutor, and had helped put away many criminals. Harry felt a little guilty that he would be standing against White...though the guilt soon went away when White repeated all the charges, all of which he would proceed to prove were true. White was doing his job; and Harry will do _his_.

“I call Auror Williams,” White said.

Harry immediately sat up, frowning when Auror Williams stood up. _Harry_ was the one who first found the defendant, who did the most work that went into the case file. And Auror Williams was technically _still suspended_ and therefore not technically an Auror.

White examined Williams, and they went through the evidence.

“Auror Keith and myself arrived on scene after an alert to the Auror Department. The Healers determined that Celia Robards had been attacked by a werewolf, and quickly moved her to St. Mungos, for she was one of their colleagues. Auror Keith and myself stayed at the scene to investigate. We found traces of paw prints, but they led into the forest and were subsequently muddled up.”

“How did you determine the perpetrator?” White asked.

 _Finally_ , Auror Williams deemed to glance at Harry.

“The perpetrator, Robin Smith, appeared at the Auror Department on its own accord. It contacted Auror Potter and confessed.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Williams’ blatant de-humanising pronoun for Robin.

“Auror Williams and myself then went to Smith’s house and found no suitable isolation room on the property. Furthermore, there were no Wolfsbane bottles. We questioned the various potions shops in Diagon Alley and found that Smith had not bought Wolfsbane from any of them in the last few months. Finally, given that the location of Smith’s house is far from the victim’s, Smith must have purposedfully gone to the victim’s house on the evening of the full moon, in order to attack once the moon rose.”

White gave the courtroom a bland smile. “That concludes my examination-in-chief, Your Honour.” He took a seat, and Parkinson stood up and near prowled onto the stage.

“I would like to ask Auror Williams a few questions,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Where were you when my defendant confessed to Auror Potter?”

Williams said nonchalantly, “Out investigating.”

“What were you investigating?”

“The case.”

Parkinson raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Since, according the Auror records, you were involved in activities that caused your _current_ suspension from Auror service. Is this true?”

Harry glowered at Williams, who shifted guiltily when he briefly met Harry’s eyes. Because he knew the entire Auror department knew of Williams’ suspension, if not all the details.

“Yes,” Williams said grudgingly.

“Both you and Keith are currently suspended. Is this true?”

“Yes.”

“Then I cannot call you an Auror,” Parkinson said with faux sorrow. “Furthermore, you never interrogated my client, due to your suspension. Auror _Potter_ is the only Auror who knows the entire case, and has been the only Auror on the case since yours and Keith’s suspension. Is that true?”

Williams’ jaw clenched. “ _Yes_ ,” he forced out.

“Therefore, you either _informally_ investigated Smith’s home while still being suspended—which would be grounds for further suspension, or you never did investigate Smith’s home at all. Is one of these statements true?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Williams said harshly.

Parkinson gave a self-satisfied smile. “No more questions, Your Honour.”

White barely looked at her when he stood up. “I call upon my second witness, Auror Potter.”

Harry stood up and walked down to the witness stand. Then, looking amongst the audience, he said, “I am a witness speaking for the defendant.” And then in that sudden silence, he walked right back to his original seat.

Harry had to hide his smirk when Judge Shafiq glared at him and White sneered.

“I see Auror Potter no longer stands for the truth,” White muttered. “I call forth my third witness, Celia Robards, the victim.”

Celia stood up and made her way to the witness stand. She leaned forward and said, “Actually, I am also a witness for the defendant.”

“Impossible!” Judge Shafiq said. “Do _not_ move.”

Celia raised an eyebrow. “I’m a witness speaking for the defendant,” she repeated. And then she left the witness stand.

“Get back there,” White hissed.

“No,” Celia said loudly and clearly.

“Prosecutor White, do you have any other witnesses?” the Judge said.

White straightened. “No, Your Honour,” he grounded out.

A rumble of discontent went through the room, and Parkinson, as satisfied as a great cat, stalked onto the stage.

“I call upon Robin Smith,” she said.

Parkinson, along with the defendant Robin Smith, informed the room that Robin had not registered due to the illegal and unlawful nature of the Register itself. Robin’s inability to take sufficient Wolfsbane was due to purposeful confiscation of their Wolfsbane by Aurors—who did not give their names—and lack of funds to buy more. Robin told the room of the mysterious unlocking of their full moon isolation room, and that they had absolutely _no_ intent in harming anyone, least of all Celia Robards.

White came forth to cross-examine Robin, who held admirably well, given all things.

Parkinson then called up Harry, who gave the _actual_ facts. When Harry gave his evidence, he gave the members of the Wizengamot long, hard looks. His evidence was solid, and the trial would conclude with an open vote. Harry would know _exactly_ who voted against the plea. And as for White’s cross-examination, Harry had seen far too many court cases to be fazed in the least.

And finally, Parkinson called up Celia Robards. And when White tried to cross-examine _her_ , she answered with the casualness like an academic who was well-versed in arsehole comments and unsolicited grilling from other academics.

White, and then Parkinson, gave the final summaries for their side of the case. A spell descended upon the room to allow Judge Shafiq and the Wizengamot converse privately amongst themselves—it hid the image and blocked the sound of the judge and jury.

A few minutes later, the spell released and Shafiq called the vote.

Harry blatantly looked around and took careful note of how each Wizengamot member voted, and tucked that knowledge for later.

With a rigid expression, Judge Shafiq said, “The Wizengamot has voted. The accused is to be released. In light of the events regardless of the charges, the defendant, Robin Smith, must register with the Werewolf Registry. Robin Smith must pay a fine of 2000 Galleons and additional court fees. Robin Smith must meet monthly with the case Auror for the next three months to ensure Wolfsbane compliance. The trial is now closed.”

Harry relaxed. He got up and made his way to Parkinson and the others.

“Congratulations, Parkinson, and Robin,” he said.

“Thanks for your help,” Robin said fervently.

“You’re welcome.” He quirked a grin. “Just doing the right thing.”

Parkinson smirked. “The case was in the bag from the moment I joined,” she said, and Harry didn’t doubt her at all.

She turned to Robin. “And don’t worry about the fine and court fees. _I’ll_ pay for those.”

Robin’s brows drew together. “I...”

“ _I’ll pay it_ ,” Parkinson repeated sternly. “No protests allowed. Now, let’s get out of here. We’re having a late celebratory supper out in Muggle London.”

“Oh, I thought you were joking,” Robin said. They gave a tired smile. “Alright.”

Parkinson turned to the others. “Celia? Potter?”

Celia nodded. “Sure. I’ll message Lisa.”

Harry shook his head. “I better head home. It’s been a long day.”

Parkinson shrugged and waved him off. The others remained, talking.

Harry waved goodbye and trudged back to his office. No one else was there, on a late Friday night. Alone, Harry wrote down the names of suspect Wizengamot members and a note to find out whether Aurors Williams and Keith should be suspended for even longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know how exactly the court proceedings in Wizarding Britain would go in comparison to other court proceedings, so please suspend disbelief at parts that are inaccurate.


	8. Chapter 8

 

Pansy wasn’t at dinner that night—Draco tried to wait for as long as he could back at Malfoy Manor, but he was starting to fear that it would be only himself and Blaise and the damn reporters.

Therefore, Draco was surprised to see Lovegood ( _without Pansy_ ) as well as Granger and Weasley in the dining hall.

“Good evening,” Draco greeted them, feeling off-footed.

“Welcome to our establishment,” Blaise said, shaking hands with Granger and Weasley. “May I call you Hermione? Ron?”

Granger nodded. “Of course.”

“Fashionably late, are you?” Weasley said. “We were waiting for you. Sure,” he added, to Blaise.

“If I had _known_ ,” Draco said archly.

“Your registration was successful,” Granger said directly. “Even if I had to watch them accept it. You should be receiving a letter about it on Monday. If not...”

Draco smirked. “Then I will inform you. Thank you, Granger. I would like you to know that I _have_ filed and paid my taxes, including the purchases and gifts before we started the charity.”

Weasley grumbled. “Ugh, you did your taxes properly. Can’t you be at least a little evil?”

“Don’t insult me, Weasley,” Draco retorted. “And where’s Potter? Your Golden Trio balance is off.”

“Harry got called into an emergency trial,” said Weasley.

“No doubt where Pansy is,” Blaise mused. “Now, shall we have dinner? Weasley looks like he’s about to starve to death.”

“Yes please,” Weasley said fervently.

Draco noticed that Weasley and Granger each already had a menu. “Did Lovegood inform you of the ordering procedure?”

“The instructions are on the menu,” Granger said. “But.” She placed her hands over the menu and met Draco’s eyes head on. “Who’s in the kitchen?”

“House-elves,” Draco said innocently.

Granger’s eyes hardened a touch as she straightened. “I thought so. You’re not hiring some of the people you’re helping, not giving _them_ a job?”

Blaise sighed. “Politics at the dining table?” he said.

“Go ahead and start,” Draco reassured him.

Blaise snorted. “I am, regardless of your approval. Ron, why don’t we leave them be and enjoy our dinner?”

Weasley glanced at Granger, but he grinned back to Blaise. “You’re after my heart.”

“The house-elves in the kitchen _want_ to cook,” Draco said to Granger. “I employed them first. I’m not going to _fire_ them in preference for a human.”

“So you _a_ _re_ employing them,” Granger said. She glanced around the dining hall. “Exactly how many are under your employ?”

Draco shrugged one shoulder. “I honestly have no idea. They organise themselves, really.”

“Then _how_ are you paying them?”

“They track their own hours, and I pay them. _Granger_ , before you say anything more, they also live in Malfoy Manor and everyone at Malfoy Manor has access to all the food.”

“I want to talk to them.”

“Very well,” Draco said. “Come by Malfoy Manor whenever you wish.”

Granger relaxed. “Good. I’ve still being thinking about their inclusion into the current social welfare system.”

“It still fails humans,” Draco pointed out.

Granger grimaced. “I know.”

“Hermione, you can’t do everything right now!” Weasley said. “Have some dinner. This stuff is _really good_. We should come here more often.”

Granger gave a smile. “Alright, Ron.”

“It’s a lot better than your cooking,” Weasley added, grinning.

“The cooks are beyond compare,” Blaise said.

Draco glanced at Granger. “Then you can go and thank the kitchen staff after.”

Granger lit up. “Really?”

“Wow, this is _delicious_ ,” Weasley interrupted.

Granger glanced over at him. “What is it?”

Weasley shrugged. “No idea. I just slapped my hand over the menu and food appeared. _I_ need to thank the elves.”

Draco mused, still aware of the other journalists around them. “I shall call them out afterwards and we can _all_ thank them for their service.”

“Great,” Weasley said. “Hey, Blaise, what do you do? No offence, but I only see Malfoy and Parkinson in the papers.”

“No offence taken,” Blaise said easily. “I’m a fashion designer...”

:::

After dinner and dessert, Draco summoned one house-elf to call the rest of them out from the kitchens.

In a single file, over a dozen house-elves trailed out from the kitchen, a few of them curious and a few of them nervous.

Granger immediately got out of her chair. “Hello,” she greeted them. “I’m Hermione Granger.”

The elves’ eyes widened as they recognised the name. Unlike Potter, Granger was much more patient in speaking with every single one of the elves—learning their names, thanking them for their work, and asking how they were doing. Weasley was much more targeted: he located the handful of elves that were directly responsible for making his dishes, and then heaped praise upon them (and hinted very strongly that he wouldn’t mind if they could make those dishes for him again).

The head-chef among them, Mozza, trotted over to Draco once Granger moved on.

“Master Draco, we are not understanding this,” she said, fingers gripping her long chef’s jacket.

“We’re grateful for your work,” Draco said. “And I understand that I’ve given you more work of late, in delivering food to our usual guests. You’ve all done a good job, but I hope you _have_ been including more staff as you need them.”

Mozza looked down. “Yes.” She looked up. “Master Draco...”

“Yes?”

“There be many elves who like cooking. Many _many_.”

“But not enough work for so many elves?” Draco presumed.

Mozza nodded.

“Mozza, do you work every single day?”

Mozza nodded. “I be the _head_ cook.”

“Do you _want_ to work every day?”

Mozza nodded rigorously.

“We could open the dining hall during the morning with a different set of breakfast staff,” Draco mused out loud. “Or we could open a proper cafe down on Diagon, which would allow the making of different foods and allow an income that is separate from me.” Draco looked at Mozza. “How do any of those sound?”

Mozza clasped her hands together. “Yes, Master Draco.”

Draco glanced at Granger, who was still speaking to the house-elves.

“If there are any elves who _want_ to work for another household that cannot afford the minimal wage requirements, then I can subsidise what they can pay. Tell that to the others.”

Mozza nodded. “Yes, Master Draco, immediately!”

Draco nodded back and let Mozza return to the other house-elves. Blaise nudged Draco’s shoulder with his own.

“You’re doing a lot for them,” Blaise noted. “At this rate, all the house-elves in England are going to quit their original jobs and go under your employ without you even realising,”

Draco turned to Blaise. “Then perhaps others will realise the worth of house elves and be willing to pay them better.”

Blaise shook his head. “You’re an honourary Gryffindor now.”

Draco cast a subtle muffliato. “This is nothing about loyalty or honour or bravery or even doing the right thing,” he said lowly. “This is about paying back all the debts that the Malfoy family owes to others.”

Blaise shook his head again. “If that keeps you sane,” he said. He slowly placed a hand on Draco’s arm. “Go back to the Manor. Take a break. Hermione’s going to be a long time yet, and she doesn’t need your supervision.”

Draco pulled his arm towards himself, dislodging Blaise’s hand. “Fine. But _only_ because today has been unusually eventful.”

:::

On the next day, Draco found a picture of himself and the others at dinner in the papers’ extended Saturday editions. Without Pansy there to threaten legal action, the reporters had been bold.

Draco was also pleasantly satisfied to see a couple of articles about house-elves and their employment. Granger had clearly gone to speak with some of the reporters afterwards, as evidenced by her quotes.

Pansy wasn’t at breakfast that morning.

“Did something go wrong?” Draco muttered. “Where is Pansy?”

Blaise snorted. “I’m not her keeper.”

Draco nodded, and then frowned.

Blaise narrowed his eyes at Draco. “You’re not thinking of doing _work_ today, are you? It’s _Saturday_.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Draco said pointedly.

“Have a _lie in_. I’ve been wondering, do you even have any hobbies?” Then, Blaise slowly smirked. “Why don’t I call Harry over? You could play a Seeker game together.”

Draco quickly turned to glare at Blaise. “No, Blaise. Didn’t you hear what Weasley said yesterday? Potter had a case trial last night, he’ll be tired.”

“And what better way to recover than by having fun?” Blaise clapped his hands and summoned a house elf. “Miffy, please give Mr. Harry Potter an invitation to Malfoy Manor, for stroll in the gardens, an invigorating Seeker’s game with Draco, and a scrumptious lunch.”

Miffy was extremely happy to take the message, and she returned just a few minutes later with Potter’s reply. “Mr. Harry Potter would be loving to come by Malfoy Manor! He is coming in just a bit!”

“Thank you, Miffy,” Blaise said.

Miffy grinned widely and disappeared, undoubtedly to the kitchens where she was spreading the news of Potter’s arrival.

Draco groaned inwardly.

In retaliation to Blaise’s wishes, after breakfast Draco went to his study and did some work _anyway_ , knowing that upon Potter’s arrival, Potter would be inundated with everybody else.

:::

Draco froze when he heard something out-of-the-ordinary. Silently, he put down his quill and cast an eavesdropping charm so that he could hear the talking on the other side of his study’s door.

“Wait, are you _sure_?” Potter hissed.

“Yes, Harry,” was Blaise’s drawl.

“But, if he’s working...”

“He’s not _supposed_ to be working, and you can blame it on me if he gets mad. Which he _won’t_.”

“Right. Okay.” Potter left out a loud sigh. “Right. So, I go in, ask him for a Seeker’s match. That’s it?”

“That’s _it_. Now go on.”

The door opened.

Draco discreetly ended his spell and clasped his hands together, elbows resting on his desk.

Blaise had pushed Potter in. Blaise was smirking and dared to wink at Draco. Potter looked like he knew he was in trouble.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Draco drawled.

Blaise jabbed Potter in the back, and Potter stumbled forward.

“Er, hey, Malfoy. _Draco_ , I mean,” he quickly corrected.

Draco narrowed his eyes at Blaise, who was still smirking.

“Blaise said you wanted a Seeker’s match?” Potter gamely continued.

Draco stood up smoothly. “As it were, _Blaise_ wanted _you and I_ to have a Seeker’s match. Did you bring a broom?”

Potter nodded. “My old Firebolt.”

“Blaise shall show you to the Quidditch pitch. I need to change into something more suitable,” Draco said. “Go on.” He smirked inwardly when he saw a flash of annoyance go across Blaise’s face—Blaise clearly had other things to do than take the fairly long walk out of the Manor and to the pitch.

By the time Draco made it out, Potter was flying alone over the Malfoy’s Quidditch Pitch, and Blaise was long gone.

Potter quickly spotted him and flew down.

“ _White_ Quidditch leathers?” Potter said with a smile, shaking his head as he landed.

“There is nothing wrong with this colour,” Draco scowled.

“You always used to wear black, before the War.”

“That was _b_ _efore_ ,” Draco said pointedly.

Potter winced. “Right. _But_. Why not, say, green? Or blue? White makes you look kind of...likeyou’reabouttogetmarried.”

Draco’s eyebrows went up. “I beg your pardon?”

“Brides wear white at weddings,” Potter forced out.

“Is that so? White is also the colour worn at some funerals,” Draco said.

“Oh, sorry,” Potter said, face falling.

“And it’s not why I wear it,” Draco added, when he thought Potter had suffered enough. “It’s bright. A colour I missed, after Azkaban. Now, are you ready? I have the Snitch right here,” Draco continued briskly.

Potter took a moment to catch up. “Right, I’m ready to win,” he said, shooting off a smirk.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Draco said sincerely. He flipped open the Snitch box and let it drop to the ground as the Snitch flew up. In a flash, he hopped onto his broom and kicked off. “We start now!” he shouted down.

“Malfoy!” Potter yelled.

Draco laughed. He angled his broom up and ascended sharply up and up, and he knew that Potter was following soon after.

:::

It was because Draco hadn’t been on a broom since before that he lost to Potter, Draco thought. He let Potter use one of the guest bathrooms to wash off, and he himself changed into something different for lunch.

Lunch was held in the solarium. The house-elves had taken out a number of tables and chairs, more than enough for all the lunchers.

“This place again!” Potter said, grinning. “Neville would love this.”

“And you _don’t_?” Draco said archly, pulling out Potter’s chair.

Potter sat down, his grin softening into a smile. “I like it too.”

Draco hummed, as food appeared on the table. “This used to be the Dark Lord’s wing,” he admitted. “I remade it entirely.”

“ _Oh_.” With even wider eyes, Potter looked around the solarium. “It’s _really_ nice. It feels like spring in here.”

“What’s the point of magic otherwise?” Draco said drily. “There’s no reason why I have to stare at the grey British weather.”

“If you could do this to my backyard...” Potter trailed off suggestively.

“ _Or_ you could just come here,” Draco countered. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I’ll remind you,” Potter said, and finally started eating.

After a while, Potter asked, “Can you cook?”

“Not at all,” Draco said. “Why would I?”

“Independence? Life skills?” Potter suggested, grinning.

“I’m living perfectly well,” Draco said pointedly. “There are many house-elves who have the _skill_ for cooking. I was speaking with them just yesterday about expanding opportunities for them to cook as work.”

Potter hummed. “I guess you _are_ rich.”

“That is well established.”

Potter poked at his remaining food for a moment. “Maybe we could get them to work in the Ministry Cafeteria. The food there sucks.”

Draco leaned forward. “And who’s working there?”

“Huh, house-elves, I think. But it’s nothing like the system that you have, down on Knockturn.”

“I’ll inform the elves here at the Manor then, and perhaps they can do something,” Draco said.

Presently, they finished their lunch.

“Is there anything else Blaise told you to do here?” Draco asked.

Potter’s lips quirked up. “No, not really. But I could tell you about the outcome of the trial yesterday.”

Draco nodded shortly. “Let’s move to my study.”

Potter gave a general wave to the others in the solarium before they walked to Draco’s study. Draco sat on one of the chairs in front of his desk, and motioned Potter to sit down next to him.

“Thanks.” Potter sat down. “When I first arrived, I actually wanted to talk to you about the case. I don’t know how much Parkinson has told you.”

Draco frowned. “Unfortunately, I haven’t seen Pansy since yesterday morning.”

Potter mused, “I didn’t see her at lunch here. The trial happened and ended last night.” Potter leaned forward. “The results of the trial are supposed to be public. I assume _they_ wanted it to act as a deterrent and a message, but the trial went as Parkinson no doubted planned.”

“The trial did not appear in today’s paper,” Draco said.

Potter rolled his eyes. “I don’t think any of the Wizengamot were rushing to announce it. Robin was charged with assault causing grievously bodily harm. However, the attack was not mediated nor intended by Robin in any way, shape, or form, but was caused directly due to malevolent intent and actions by certain members of the Ministry.”

“You found something concrete, then,” Draco said, a little sharply.

Potter smiled grimly. “Yes. Certain Aurors will be going on trial as soon as I can push it, but unlike Robin, the Ministry has been delaying everything. They don’t really like the sound of being put on trial.”

“The public deserves to know,” Draco said.

“Yes. Along with Celia’s testimony and plea for leniency based on her own knowledge and research, Robin didn’t get the Azkaban time as expected, but they do have to pay a hefty fine, register as a werewolf, and check in with the Aurors for the next three full moons.”

“I’ll pay the fine,” Draco said quickly.

Potter grinned. “Too late, actually, Pansy already offered last night. And as it is, _I’m_ the Auror Robin will have to check in with.”

“And registering seems rather pointless when the Ministry already _know_ that Robin is a werewolf...and in light of the impending abolishment of the register.” Slowly, Draco smirked.

Potter settled back in his chair. “Exactly.”

“If you need any help or information, then you know where to find me.”

“It would be good if I could get testimonies and pensive memories of Aurors acting badly. I’m fairly sure who framed Robin, though,” Potter’s tone turned grim. “The problem is that I’m don’t quite know who directed _them_ to do it.”

“Potter, do you work on weekends?”

Potter nodded. “Yeah, I do. There’s a lot of work.”

Draco glanced at his own piles of work. “I understand. Now if only Blaise would...”

Potter gave a small smile. “Blaise seems like a good friend. Maybe you should spend some more time with him doing whatever it is that Slytherins do in their spare time.”

“Perhaps,” Draco conceded.

Potter cast a _Tempus_. “I might go home, if you don’t mind. Things to do and all.”

“Of course not.” Draco stood up. Without even thinking about it, he held out his hand to pull Potter up. He only realised his actions once their hands had dropped. “I—let me escort you to the drawing room.”

“Great,” Potter grinned. “Otherwise I’d get lost in here and the next time you’ll see me I’ll be a dusty skeleton.”

Draco snorted. “The house-elves would never let anything get dusty.”

Potter laughed.

They ambled down to the drawing room.

“I’ll see you again,” Potter said sincerely. “Probably for work, but hopefully not.”

“Either is fine,” Draco said magnanimously.

Potter smiled and flooed away.

Draco went back to his study, but...the papers on his desk no longer looked interesting. With a sigh, he went down to the Manor’s potions labs to order some Wideye potion—for himself and for Potter and Weasley. He left the various potion makers to it, and hunted down Blaise.

Blaise was sitting outside, reading a novel. He put the book down as Draco approached.

“Surprising to see you outside of your office,” Blaise said.

Draco sat down next to him. “I realise I have not asked how you’ve been for a while.”

“It has been a while,” Blaise said, giving Draco a pointed look.

Draco’s lip quirked up. “How have you been, Blaise?”

Blaise reclined back. “Monotonous,” he said with a sigh.

“Oh.”

“Understandably, most people want ordinary clothing. It’s monotonous.”

“I didn’t realise.” Draco frowned.

Blaise snorted. “The muggles are holding a muggle fashion show in London next week, and there’s currently one in Milan.”

“You should go,” Draco said immediately.

Blaise raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Should I? Even to Milan? My mother is currently there. I would have thought you had _plans_ for me.”

Draco winced. “I thought you would like to help.”

“And I _do_ ,” Blaise said. “But I’m not a charity worker. I’m a _designer_.”

Draco nodded. “Go to them. I’m not your keeper.”

“As though you’d keep _anyone,”_ Blaise said. “I _will_ go to Milan then, but I’ll be back next week.”

“Perhaps we can go to one of the fashion shows in London,” Draco suggested. “We’ll see if anything convinces me to wear a different colour.”

Blaise looked Draco up and down, and shook his head, smirking. “At this point, it’s your signature look. It’s how the public _recognise_ _s_ you.”

Draco shrugged.

Blaise snorted. “Is there anything I should know before I go?”

Draco shook his head. “No,” he said, smiling a little. “Go, have a good time. See your mother and your other friends.”

“I shall.”

Blaise stood up and Draco followed suit.

“And how was Harry today? You looked relaxed during lunch.”

“It was good,” Draco admitted. “I owe today to you.”

“See?” Blaise said. “There is nothing wrong with a break, especially when you need it. I’ m going to pack. And _you_ , Mr. Malfoy, are going to take a break from work. You can start again tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Blaise, for allowing me to work on a Sunday,” Draco said drily.

Blaise smiled. “My pleasure.”

:::

When Monday came round, a letter from the Ministry with Draco’s successful charity registration awaited at his office, just as Granger promised. Draco immediately made duplicates of the letter, and enlarged one and stuck it to the wall in his office.

Then, another Ministry owl flew in.

Draco’s eyebrow rose as he read through the new letter. The Ministry weren’t demanding reparations _per se_ anymore, but they _were_ demanding that Draco make ‘voluntary donations’ to various charitable organisations.

With annoyance, Draco put away all the work he was planning to do and set about finding everything he could about the named charities. He used spells to trawl through newspaper archives for mentions of those names, he sent out owls to Pansy and Granger asking whether they had heard of them, and he sent owls to the listed addresses of them in request for information.

From what his spells found, from what his owls returned, these charitable organisations existed. However, an alarming number of them were for-profit, and many of them had Wizengamot members on their board.

Draco spent the rest of his day first attempting to visit the locations of these organisations to request their financial and annual reports, under the truthful excuse that he was thinking of donating. When some of them denied his request, Draco went to Gringotts in attempt to obtain transaction details from them. The Goblins denied Draco’s request (thankfully, else he knew Pansy would be on his case for illegal dealings). Draco was reduced to trying to track down where the money went based on public reports and press releases.

Some, Draco had to admit were legitimate.

Some, Draco thought, were a bit _too_ for-profit than charitable.

The next day found Draco still on this task, but he had at least enlisted one of the Knockturn building’s residents to help—a wizard named Mateo, and tasked him to find other charities that did the same things as the named charities.

After all, the Ministry were requesting donations, and if Draco could find a better charity doing the same—if not better—work, there was nothing the Ministry could do to stop Draco donating, though Draco was sure they would try something else again.

With Mateo doing that, Draco could attend to some more interviews about Werewolf rights, and hinting, entirely truthfully, about the malicious intent of certain members of the Ministry to the newspapers.

:::

A few days later, Mateo got back to him.

“Malfoy, these folks are good,” Mateo said, handing Draco a file of notes on various charities and organisations. “I’ve checked with some of the others. Nothing fishy in the papers, nothing fishy on the street.”

“Thank you, Mateo. I’ll be sure to donate to them. Now, on the matter of your pay, did you track your time?”

Mateo scrunched his nose. “Nah, it’s fine,” he said gruffly. “I don’t like owing you. You’ve already given me a place to stay. And other things.”

“The stay and the _other_ things were given without conditions,” Draco said firmly. “So please, estimate your hours, at least. You’ve saved me valuable time the Ministry would like to squander of me.”

Mateo continued to shake his head. “Nah, I _liked_ being helpful, that’s all.”

“I could employ you,” Draco said. He waved a hand at all the papers that were piling up. “There is too much for me to do. And as you can see, we’re a new charity, but we still hardly have a framework, or any detailed written mission, or administration.”

“I’m no good at that. Why don’t you get Lisa?”

“I haven’t seen Lisa in a few days,” Draco said. “And regardless, she’s also busy. You can help me.”

“No,” Mateo insisted.

“You’ve already done all this research on these charities. So _you_ know what they do, even better than me. And you know what they _don’t_ do. You know better what works, and what _doesn’t_. And you have a different life experience from myself. You know what things we ought to be doing to help, but aren’t.”

Mateo looked uncomfortable. “I suppose.”

Draco pulled back a little. “Give it some thought. You know where to find me if you change your mind.” He gave Mateo a quick smile, which Mateo weakly returned.

After Mateo left, Draco compared the charities Mateo listed as good, and the ones that he listed as bad, along with Draco’s notes on the Ministry’s specially-picked charities.

After much deliberation, and re-checking of his facts, Draco owled the list of suspicious charitable organisations to Potter.

:::

Potter appeared at dinner that night, carrying a wrapped parcel.

“I got your owl,” he said to Draco. “I’m working on it. And thanks for the Wideye potions.”

“Thank you,” Draco nodded. “And you’re welcome.”

He was taken aback when Potter shoved the wrapped parcel into Draco’s hands.

“What’s this?”

“It’s for you.”

Draco brightened. “A present? You don’t mind if I open it now?”

Potter smirked. “Please, do.”

Draco shot Potter a narrowed look, but he ripped the parcel open nonetheless. He vanished the wrapping paper and held out the object.

Draco felt his eyes were bleeding. It was a bright, _bright_ yellowy-greeny overly large short sleeved shirt.

“What _is_ this?” Draco demanded.

Potter laughed. “It’s a neon T-shirt! You said you liked bright colours. This is a lot more bright than the white robes you have on right now.”

Draco glanced at his robes and shuddered. The _neon_ shirt was so bright that its coloured reflected on Draco’s robes, turning them a pale yellow.

“That does nothing for my complexion,” Draco scolded Potter, folding up the shirt.

“Want me to take it back?” Harry teased.

Draco was in fact shrinking it down and tucking it away. “Of course not, it was a gift from Harry Potter.”

“We also need to talk, after dinner,” Potter said. “I would do it during the day, but some of us have day jobs, and it wouldn’t do to speak ill of the Ministry whilst _at_ the Ministry.”

Draco nodded. “Very well.”

:::

Draco had Potter come with him to his office after dinner. He took a seat on the guest side of his desk, so that he could face Potter without the barrier of the table. “What did you find?”

“There’s something happening in the Ministry,” Potter said, eyes distant. “I started investigating a while ago, back when we were first in contact, really. I know the Aurors who were directly responsible for confiscating Wolfsbane, and I have evidence for the Auror who unlocked and led Robin to Celia for that attack. With what they’re doing to you, it’s clear that someone else is ordering them, someone from the Minister’s Office.”

“Is it the Minister?” Draco said directly.

Potter shook his head. “I don’t think Kingsley would do this. He worked with Remus Lupin, and there was nothing bad there. But Kingsley can’t keep an eye on everything.”

“So you trust Shacklebolt.”

“Yes, I do,” Potter said firmly. “But lately, he’s been focusing on the economy, and housing, and taxes.”

“For _whom_?”

Potter looked chagrined. “Not for everyone. But he’s not the one ordering the persecution of werewolves. There are a number of people in his office who are more...conservative, and who have direct links with members of the Wizengamot. Some of them are on the boards of the organisations you sent me.”

“ _Can_ you get the Wizengamot members on trial for corruption?” Draco thought idly about bribing some of the members to stop, but quickly discarded the idea. It would be a waste of money.

“It would be difficult,” Potter admitted. “And if I get one, all the others would be furiously hiding their tracks. I need to get _all_ the evidence on _all_ of them and reveal it all in one go.”

Draco frowned. He could imagine the momentous task, especially given how much he knew of his father’s own corrupt dealings before the War. “You’re not doing this _alone_ are you? It would take years.”

“It _will_ take years,” Potter said grimly. “And we’ll have to fight to kept the corruption out. Ron and Hermione are helping me. I wanted to keep you up to date.”

“We might be taking the Ministry to trial on the Registry issue,” Draco said seriously. “With Robin’s case, with the knowledge that certain members of the Ministry made it _possible_ for an otherwise law-abiding citizen to attack another, is splitting the public apart. But the Wizengamot members don’t seem to want to budge on the issue, not even to debate it.”

“It shouldn’t affect the investigation,” Potter said slowly. “Even better, it might reveal to us better who the anti-werewolf members are, it might make their orders and corruptions more sloppy.” Potter’s brow furrowed. “You’d have to be careful, though. The next full moon is coming up again soon, and the harassment could step up.”

“I can enlist house-elves to act as sentries and guards,” Draco mused. “Merlin knows there are more of them at the Manor than ever.”

“Can they—”

“Oh, they can attack,” Draco promised. “And they can apparate through Anti-Apparition Wards.”

“Fine. I know it’s not right that _you_ and the others have to be careful and vigilant, but I can’t do much more.”

“I’m sure you’re working hard,” Draco said placatingly. “Owl me—or drop by—when you have an update.”

They stood up simultaneously.

“Sure,” Potter said.

Draco motioned to the fireplace. “Would you like to floo?”

“Cheers, Malfoy. I’ll see you soon.”

Draco farewelled Potter, and Potter flooed out first to Grimmauld Place, and Draco flooed back to the Manor.

:::

Draco sent a house-elf ahead of him to warn Greg of his arrival for lunch.

With some amount of guilt, Draco, flooed over the Greg’s house. It had been weeks since Greg had been released, and Draco had completely forgotten, if it weren’t for the house-elves giving a report on their work.

Greg’s house looked much like how Draco had left it. The drawing room looked untouched. When Draco took a peek into the kitchen, there was fruit left out, utensils on the table, but there was no Greg. A few minutes of searching and Draco determined that Greg wasn’t inside at all, and so Draco went out to the gardens.

There, he found Greg sitting on one of the garden chairs, facing the far distance.

“Greg,” Draco called out softly.

Greg’s head dipped down.

Concerned, Draco rounded Greg until he faced him. Draco waved over another chair and sat down to the side.

“Good morning, Greg,” said Draco.

Greg sighed and looked up. “Hi, Draco,” he said.

Draco’s lips twisted. “How have you been?”

Greg shook his head minutely.

“Has Mills been by?”

“Sometimes.”

“I think,” Draco said slowly, “it would be best if you moved into Malfoy Manor with me.”

Greg shook his head again. “Mills told me there are...others.”

“ _Exactly_. There’s Blaise and Pansy for you to talk to. There are new people you could make friends with. Malfoy Manor is _big_ , but it’s full of life.”

“I want quiet.” Even Greg’s _words_ were quiet.

“You’ve _been_ here for weeks now,” Draco said, feeling frustrated. “What have you been doing? You can’t move on if you just—stare out at the flowers. _I_ was fixing up the Manor. I was brewing potions.”

Greg met Draco’s gaze. “I’m not smart like you, Draco. I’m dumb. Stupid. Useless.”

Draco flinched. Those were all the things Draco had said to Greg many times before.

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered.

“But it’s true,” Greg said simply.

“Maybe you weren’t book smart, but you were a good friend,” Draco said forcefully. “And I’m sure we can find something you _are_ good at.”

Greg looked away. “I can barely get out of bed,” he admitted. His head dropped into his hands. “Do you ever think about Vince? Do you ever think about the Dark Lord? Do you ever think about Azkaban? Because I do. All the fucking time. Weasley should have left me, left me to burn that day.”

“No, you can’t think that way,” Draco said.

“I’m allowed to fucking think whatever I want!” Greg shouted. “Bloody hell, Draco, I’m _not you_. I can’t do all the things you’re doing. I can’t fucking do _anything_ , because all I can think about is _him_. _Them_. _That_ place.”

“Then we’ll get you a mind healer,” Draco said.

“Shut the hell up, Draco!” Greg shot an arm out and pushed Draco. “Why the bloody hell are you even _doing_ those things? What’s the point of _helping_ them? They never helped you!”

Draco eyed Greg warily. “Because the Malfoy family owes a debt to them.”

Greg slumped back. “You’ve become a Gryffindor,” he said blankly.

Draco bristled. “Of course not!”

Greg stared out the sky.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Greg made no sound, no movement.

So Draco sat there, trying to look at the sky as Greg was. But while Greg sat there motionless, Draco was too keyed up.

He couldn’t, Draco just _couldn’t_ stand Greg, and he felt so guilty about it too.

“I’m going, then,” Draco said quietly. “The house-elves will bring you lunch, no doubt.”

Greg made no acknowledgement.

With a frustrated sigh, Draco flooed back to Malfoy Manor.

On his way to his rooms, he came across his mother.

“Darling?” she asked, brows furrowed. “Aren’t you late for your lunch engagement with Gregory?”

“Hello to you too, Mother,” Draco said.

“ _Draco_ , don’t take that tone with me.”

“Mother, I’m trying to do _all these things_ , and Greg’s just doing _nothing_. He just sits there, looking at _nothing_.”

Narcissa placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Take a deep breath, Draco. And remember that other people _are not you_.”

Draco took a deep breath. And then another. Then, the shame flooded through.

“I can’t help Greg,” Draco said in a small voice. “And I _yelled_ at him.”

“You can’t help everyone,” Narcissa said reasonably. “Focus on what you can do, darling.”

“Can you try? To speak to Greg?”

“I will see what I can do,” Narcissa allowed. “He is not you. His life experiences before, and during Azkaban are different. But I’ll see.”

Draco let out a breath. “Thank you, Mother.”

They were about to part ways when Draco turned back and asked, “Oh, and Mother, how goes your communications with Aunt Andromeda? Do you want me to organise a meeting?”

“I’m your _mother_ and I will deal with my own sister on my own terms,” Narcissa said sternly.

Draco gave a quick smile. “Yes, Mother.”

:::

:::

:::

When Harry owled Malfoy the location of a muggle cafe to meet during his Thursday lunch, he sincerely, dearly, hoped that Malfoy would take note of the muggle location and dress appropriately to blend in.

His hopes were dashed, however, when Malfoy strode into the cafe wearing an all-white muggle suit with his long white-blond hair loose and flowing behind him. Harry noticed him _immediately_ , as did most of the other muggles too.

Harry groaned. Malfoy would not have been more attention-catching with _robes_.

Malfoy nodded to Harry, but he went to the counter to order a mug of beverage first.

“So, Potter, what did you find?”

“Those organisations you sent me—they _technically_ spend just enough of their money on charitable programs, enough to count. They’re not _ideal_ , but they’re technically not _illegal_.”

Malfoy nodded, but said nothing more.

Harry frowned and looked at Malfoy more closely. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve been feeling like _you_ , so no.”

Harry’s eyebrows went up. Malfoy was being sarcastic—but Harry could hear an undertone of truth. “What do you mean?” He discreetly cast a privacy charm around them.

Malfoy set down his mug. “You want to help everyone.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I suppose? Not _everyone_ , but...”

Malfoy ignored him. “What happens when you can’t? What happens when you can’t help someone who’s _right in front of you_?”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, and he tried to force down the memories of his Auror assignments, of the War. “When that happens...” Harry clenched his fists. “When that happens, it’s because there is nothing I can do.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed at Harry. “You sound like Granger.”

“It’s because there was nothing I could do,” Harry repeated. “I can’t help everyone. It’s physically, magically, impossible.” Harry leaned forward. “What happened?”

“It’s not even _urgent_ ,” Malfoy shook his head. “This is more important, why don’t you go back to talking about this?”

“But something else is on your mind.”

Malfoy tilted his head at Harry. “What do you know...of the effects of Azkaban?”

Harry grimaced. “It’s not good. Though I’ve never had to be stationed there.”

“But the people who come at are always...different.”

Harry nodded at Malfoy. “You’re a case in point.”

“Please, don’t flatter me,” Malfoy said sharply. “After that kind of imprisonment, do people come out repenting and ready to be good citizens of society?”

Heavily, Harry shook his head. “No. People who come out...they are often repeating offenders. Their crimes become worse.”

“Then Azkaban doesn’t work.”

Harry gave a sigh. “Hermione campaigned about this a little, after the War. The Dementors aren’t there anymore, at least.”

“Then I should give her my thanks,” Malfoy drawled.

“But it’s just _another_ thing that needs to be fought,” Harry tugged at his hair. He looked down at his files. “Why are we even talking about this? We haven’t even cracked our _current_ case.”

“ _You_ were the one who started it.”

“Well, I hope you understood all the things I said.” Harry picked up his files and handed them to Draco, who sat who straighter.

“I have a list of names of suspected conspirators,” Harry started, “and I want you to take extra care around them, both in their possible aggression, both also to not draw their attention.”

Malfoy scanned through the list, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Very well.”

“But if you, or anyone else comes in contact with them, then you should contact me. The more evidence we have, the harder it is for them to ignore it.”

Malfoy nodded. “Anything else?”

“Actually,” Harry said, “I want to know how things are progressing on _your_ end. Are you really planning to take the Ministry to trial on it?”

“If no one on the Wizengamot is willing to put forth a bill to change it,” Malfoy said, eyes narrowing.

Harry nodded. “Talk to Kingsley first. I _hope_ he would put forth the bill.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “And how does one gain the opportunity to speak directly with the Minister? Any letters we sent are first sorted by his secretaries.”

“Ah, woops,” Harry cringed. “I’ll see what I can do. Or Hermione, rather.”

Malfoy relaxed. “Much appreciated.” He took a sip of his drink. “I noticed you didn’t acquire lunch.”

Harry looked at the papers scattered all over the table. “Yeah, well.” He quickly shuffled them together. “I’ll go grab something on my way back. Work’s been piling up.”

Malfoy snorted. “If you wish, I can task a house-elf to provide you with lunch. They can apparate through Ministry wards, after all.”

Harry pouted. “Don’t dangle that in front of me! The Ministry would hate it if they found that your house-elves were routinely popping in to the Auror offices.”

“Then a packed lunch,” Malfoy suggested. “They can drop it off at your place.”

“Ah, I really shouldn’t...I should support the local cafes around here. And even the Ministry canteen...”

Malfoy sipped his drink. “Your loss.”

Harry made a face, but moved on. “That’s all I wanted to update you on. I really should get back to my office.”

“And I to mine.”

They shared a world-weary smile.

Harry said goodbye and weaved through the Muggle streets to Ministry, only just remembering to grab some food-to-go at the Tesco Local on the way back.

Ron was already back in the office, and he was talking to Aurors Haart and Shafiq.

“They’ve done all of Keith and Willaims’ cases,” Ron said happily.

Haart shrugged. “Sometimes tackling problems a different way can solve it much faster.”

“Not to mention that they had been running around working for Cricke instead of working on their assigned cases,” Shafiq added quietly.

Harry made sure the door was locked and cast another privacy charm for good measure. “Are you sure it’s Cricke, who’s doing this in the department?”

Auror Shafiq nodded.

Ron pulled a face. “We’ve been trying to get some evidence, but he keeps his trail clean.”

Harrt snorted. “He’s an Auror. He knows how to work without leaving evidence.”

“And is he working alone? Or is someone ordering _him_?”

Haart gave Harry an incredulous look. “Have you ever talked to that man? No, this is entirely him.”

“I think...” Ron said slowly, “that you two should take this case from us. You clearly know more. And with the full moon approaching, it’s time we caught Cricke, not just the handful of Aurors who we know have been actively harassing people on the streets.”

“If we prove that he was the one that caused Celia to turn into a werewolf...” Shafiq paused, glancing at Harry.

“Robards would be pretty angry,” Harry offered

“Robards would stop turning a blind eye to Cricke,” Haart said darkly. “Does anyone else know that you’re doing this?”

“Robards probably suspects,” Harry started.

“Hermione knows,” Ron added.

“And Malfoy. And probably Parkinson. And everyone at Robin Smith’s trial _should_ suspect,” Harry realised. “Since it was quite clear that we knew that Robin had been framed by someone working in the Ministry.”

Haart smiled. “That’s good. He’d suspect you, but he won’t suspect us.”

Ron took out their case file and spelled it so that Haart and Shafiq could access it. Haart didn’t take it: instead, she cast her own spell that produced a duplicate copy.

“Remote access spell,” she informed them. “Whenever either of us add or change something in the file, it will automatically appear in the other. At the end, we can re-merge them together.”

“That’s nifty,” Ron said.

“Yes, but don’t tell Robards or he’ll start micro-managing even more,” Haart said. She shrunk down the file and tucked inside her Auror robes. “All the best.”

“You too,” Ron said and Harry said.

Haart and Shafiq left their office, closing the door behind them.

Harry felt himself relaxing. “They’re going to catch him,” he said confidently.

Ron nodded. “He won’t know what hit him. We need to do some of our cases before Robards comes breathing down our necks.”

Harry nodded miserably. “Oh, before I forget, can you get Hermione to schedule a meeting with Kingsley?”

Ron eyebrows drew together. “Huh?”

“I want Hermione to have a proper, long, scheduled meeting with Kingsley that won’t be interrupted,” Harry expanded. “With the likely inclusion of Parkinson. I want Hermione to push for it, no matter how busy Kingsley is.”

Ron caught on. “The register thing, right? Sure, I’ll tell her. Now,” Ron held up two case files. “Should we go and try to talk to the old witch in Kent _again_ , or should we go looking for a lost pet crup?”

Harry pulled a face. “Let’s go look for the crup. At least the owners might be happy when we help.”


	9. Chapter 9

On Saturday, Draco found himself in the daisy-yellow lounge room, sipping his tea while his mother scanned through the list of names of members of the Wizengamot.

After a moment, Narcissa put her notes down. “Yes, I have spoken to most of them, bar the few that did not return any of my owls nor received me on my social calls.”

“And?”

Narcissa shook her head. “None of them wish to put forward a motion, thought there are a few who are sympathetic to your cause.”

Draco nodded slowly. “Thank you, Mother.”

“As for Gregory, you must be patient, Draco. He will get better in his own time.”

Draco dipped his head slightly. “Yes, Mother, I know. About those who are sympathetic...would they be willing to talk to me?”

“Perhaps _I_ should meet with them again, if you wish.”

“To tell you in confidence, Mother, they might not need to put forth a motion themselves,” Draco said, watching his mother carefully.

Narcissa’s eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly. “I will keep your words in confidence.”

“Potter has given his word that he will try to organise a meeting with the Minister for Magic.”

“Ah, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He never returned any of my owls,” Narcissa said, a little distastefully.

“It goes through his secretaries. When I was there, his receptionist wasn’t welcoming to people like us,” Draco said.

Slowly, Narcissa said, “Then we wish to sway those on the Wizengamot ahead of the Minister putting forth a bill.”

“Would you do so?”

“How much would it change?” Narcissa said. “We are not...going to suddenly see werewolves as _normal_.”

“At the very least, it is symbolic,” Draco said in an even tone. “If we make the legal steps to allow those who are werewolves to function normally, then they will be a normal part of society. They’re less of a threat then ex-Slytherins,” Draco added, smirking a little.

“With school registers, Hogwarts house affiliation is simple to ascertain.”

Draco leaned forward a little. “And perhaps it shouldn’t be simple. After the War... _now_ , it can be difficult for those from our own house to find jobs. To be treated properly at St. Mungos.” He trailed off, leaving Narcissa to fill in the rest. Unlike Draco, _she_ had gone through the times right after the War, before she moved to the south of France.

Narcissa pursed her lips. “Very well,” she conceded. “I will talk to them again—for _you_. I wish to see my son’s endeavours become successful.”

“I cannot ask more of you, Mother,” Draco said with a faint smile.

:::

“Don’t do anything stupid today,” Pansy told Draco on Monday morning.

“I never do anything stupid,” Draco said mildly.

Pansy gave him an unconvinced looked. “Right. Blaise should be back from Milan soon, so hopefully he’ll make sure of that.”

Draco frowned. “Are you leaving?”

Pansy smirked, confidence resting on her shoulders like the mantle of a ruler. “Granger owled me. She has secured a meeting with Minister Shacklebolt. We’re going to meet him today.”

Draco’s face eased. “Good,” he said.

Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t look very surprised.”

Draco tilted his head innocently. “Because I’m not.”

“Did Granger owl you too?”

“Not at all,” Draco said. “I merely asked Potter about it a few days ago. And I assume Granger would have done it eventually regardless.”

“And you didn’t even warn me to get prepared,” Pansy complained.

Draco snorted. “You’re already prepared.”

“Of course I am,” she said. “I’m off now, and _don’t do anything stupid_.”

“I never do anything stupid,” Draco repeated, but Pansy had headed off already with a smirk on her face.

:::

In the late afternoon, Pansy flooed into Draco’s Knockturn Office.

“Congratulations,” Draco said, barely looking up from all his paperwork.

“Oh, good afternoon, Draco, I hope you are well,” Pansy said. “Oh yes, I’m quite well too, thank you. The meeting with the Minster proceeded smoothly, although honestly, he could do with working harder.”

Draco smirked and lifted his head. “How did you convince him to introduce the bill?”

“With the _law_ ,” Pansy said sharply. “As an ex-Auror, he was initially hard-pressed to give up the Werewolf register,” she said darkly. Then, she winked, “And we played with some of his Gryffindor-associated sensibilities.”

Draco snorted. “Ah, if only all Gryffindors were like that. When will he put the bill forward?”

Pansy smiled sharply. “He’s supposed to do it when Wizengamot meet on Wednesday. If he doesn’t keep his word...” Pansy left that there, and continued, “And the bill itself should be voted on a week or two after that.”

Draco glanced at the calendar on his desk. “After the full moon, then.”

Pansy gave a slight nod. “Unfortunate, but there are many full moons after. Now, it’s time to work sympathy into the general public.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Draco said.

Pansy went up to his desk, splaying her hands over Draco’s papers. “What are you doing _now_?”

“Charity administration, unfortunately. No one else has come to help, despite my offering of a salary from my personal vaults.”

Pansy hummed. “That’s not all.”

“A little of this and that,” Draco said vaguely.

Pansy lifted her hand off his papers. “Keep your secrets, then. Has Blaise returned?”

“Not at lunch. He might be back at the Manor.”

Pansy raised a hand in farewell. “I’ll see you at dinner,” she said, and flooed to Malfoy Manor.

Which, of course, left Draco with his paperwork.

:::

Draco kept his word and attended a couple of London’s fashion shows on Tuesday with Blaise when he’d returned from Milan. Draco found it curious that many of the muggles wore robes, albeit shorter than the usual fashion.

“They’re not robes,” Blaise said in exasperation, when Draco made that comment to him. “Some of them are called _coats_ , and the others are _dresses_.”

“Then what is that?” Draco pointed out to a what looked like a fitted robe of pale cream, overlayed with a white intricate lace pattern; the ensemble was completed with a pair of admirable white boots. “Why can you make me one of those? They look a lot more fitting than those _suits_ you keep telling me I should wear.”

“That’s a dress,” Blaise said.

“So, they’re not robes,” Draco said. He looked at Blaise sidelong. “They’re muggle robes.”

Blaise opened his mouth, then closed it. “I can imagine that _you_ would appreciate something decadent as a proper dress.”

“Perhaps I could hire one of these muggle designers...”

Blaise was very unamused. “You’re _not_ going to wear any other designer’s clothes. You’re wearing _Zabini_.”

“Very well,” Draco conceded. He went back to watching the fashion show, though half of his mind was on Blaise.

The week in Milan had done Blaise good. Blaise was more lively, more energetic, and Draco noticed him sketching constantly in his little notebook: the curves and lines of clothing, shapes, and miscellaneous objects.

Blaise didn’t need Draco to _manage_ him as though he was one of the Malfoy investments. It had ultimately stifled him. While Draco was in Azkaban, Blaise was doing the fashion show circuits and associating with a fair number of Italian designers. Draco had, somewhat inadvertently, tried to make Blaise to become the spokesperson of Draco’s endeavours. But while Blaise was willing to help, it wasn’t _intrinsically_ motivated. Like Narcissa, Blaise helped because he wanted to help _Draco_.

And now it was time for Draco to let Blaise go after his own goals, at his own pace.

:::

The Minister for Magic kept his word. The bill to abolish the Werewolf Register, along with many more finer details Pansy had painstakingly written, was introduced to the Wizengamot on Wednesday and announced in the papers the day after.

As a side affect, a trickle of donations came in, and the charity grew its volunteer base. Wolfsbane distribution was reaching an all-time high, as overseen by Lisa and the potions makers at Malfoy Manor; and Draco’s properties were filling up, as overseen by subgroup of house-elves.

Pansy was frequently talking with Granger and Lovegood; Draco had heard the words “law firm” said numerous times across the dinner table. Blaise very often was out with other designers and those part of the fashion week. Potter occasionally showed up, but he was often quickly caught into Pansy’s conversations.

Meanwhile, Celia Robards held her own audience of sorts. She, a number of her Healer colleagues, came to the dinners, and those who were more forward questioned them about their progress in improving Wolfsbane and other lycanthropic treatments.

There were more people at the Manor in the lead up to, and on the night of, the full moon. The house-elves were truly occupied with their tasks, and the Manor positively thrummed with magic.

On the night, when Draco peered out into the grounds, he could see multiple packs of wolves, some of them running, some of them frolicking. On the breakfast the day after, many of them were chatting amongst themselves, tired but happy.

They had Wolfsbane; they had food, a place to live. They had their friends.

And Draco...went to his office alone.

:::

On the day that the Wizengamot would vote on the bill, Draco came in the Ministry to have a quick parole meeting with Potter and Weasley.

“Why do we have to do this,” Weasley complained at the end of the session. “He’s clearly not doing anything wrong, no offence,” Weasley added, looking at Draco.

“Apologies for failing to meet up to expected levels of law breaking,” Draco said drily. “However, the terms of my release are fairly clear.”

Potter cast a _tempus_. “Are you coming to the Wizengamot session?”

Draco shook his head. The Wizengamot sessions were open to members of the public, but only if they passed all the different rules. Draco did not pass.

His office back in Knockturn felt especially empty after the activity of the Ministry.

It didn’t matter, really, that Draco couldn’t go to Wizengamot session. Draco already knew that it would pass. Pansy and Lovegood had been working hard with the media; Celia had been working hard at the grass-roots level; and Narcissa and eventually even Blaise had been working hard talking with various Wizengamot members.

However close the vote might be, Draco had every confidence that the bill _will_ pass and that the Werewolf Register would be abolished. Draco had already quietly hinted to the elves to prepare for celebrations.

For the long term, Draco had already prepared formal scholarships and stipends and training programs to support any of those who would now feel that they could go out and _work_ or _learn_ , now that their names were no longer on a register like a criminal, now that the Ministry and its associated bodies, technically, couldn’t overtly discriminate against them. Draco had even set aside money in anticipation of law suits for those who wouldn’t fall in line with the changed laws.

As best as Draco could, it was all set up, and so Draco spent that day quietly working on other things.

:::

:::

:::

Harry joined the others in clapping when Kingsley announced the results of the vote, which was the last item that occurred in this meeting of the Wizengamot. It had been an open vote, and Harry was pleasantly surprised at the number of Wizengamot members who voted in favour for the bill and therefore the abolishment of the Register.

“The results of the bill will be effective at 9am tomorrow,” said Kingsley, standing in as Chief Warlock. “And that concludes today’s session.”

Harry’s mind flitted to Remus. If only Remus had had _this_ , this support. If only there had been a Hermione, a Parkinson, a Luna, a Lisa, a Celia decades ago. If only that had been a Malfoy.

Remus would be proud. He would have been able to teach Defence.

The noise in the room swelled as people stood up and started to leave.

“Coming back with us?” Luna said over the chatter.

“Where?”

“To Knockturn! Pansy’s promised a party!”

“Sure! I just want to pop down to the Auror department first,” Harry said. He waved everyone a “see you later,” and made his way to Level 2.

There were Aurors milling around the tea room and lounge, and out in the corridors, as was typical during the afternoon slump. Harry grinned at them all. “We did it! The Werewolf Register is no-more as of tomorrow!”

Some of the Aurors groaned.

“Thanks, Potter, for making us go over our paperwork _again_ ,” said Proudfoot. “I don’t get what the fuss is all about. The Register’s been around since I was born.”

“Since you didn’t have to live under its affects, I can see why you don’t get it,” Harry shot back. “We’re _Aurors_ , and we’re supposed to be _helping_ and _protecting_ people.”

Brown appeared, with a fond, belittling smile. “Oh Potter, still naive.”

“There’s repercussions if you don’t follow the new bill,” Harry said.

Brown raised his hands up in a gesture of placation. “Easy there, Potter. Of course I’ll follow them. Tomorrow,” he added.

Harry clenched his jaw, recognising Brown’s baiting. “9 on the dot,” he said as pleasantly as he could. He gave them a nod and continued through the department towards his office.

He stopped when he saw that Williams and Keith were standing outside of Cricke’s office, and he flinched when Cricke’s door opened and Cricke himself emerged.

 _Williams and Keith’s suspension has finished_ , Harry realised.

“Ah, Harry,” Cricke said, smiling amiably. “How was your work load in the last few weeks?”

Harry glanced at Williams and Keith.

“Difficult,” Harry said. “There was a lot of work, but Ron and I managed alright.”

Cricke nodded, still with that smile on his face. “You and Ron have the makings of great Aurors,” he said.

Harry tried not to bristle at the ‘praise’, and forced himself to say, “Thank you.” But Harry couldn’t help but add, “Did you hear the news? The bill passed and the Werewolf Register’s officially gone as of tomorrow morning.” He smiled at them.

Keith’s face darkened, and Williams sneered.

“Auror work is hard and long enough,” Williams said. “You’re currently doing fairly menial cases, but once you start on the harder cases, the Werewolf Register is a useful resource.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said. “My discomfort versus someone’s life...there’s a reason I fought and defeated Voldemort.” _And what were any of you doing_ then _?_ Harry thought to himself. “Anyhow, I should get back to my office. I spent all afternoon at the Wizengamot session, so I should _really_ be catching up on the cases before Robards gets my head.” Harry winced, mostly for show.

It eased the other three somewhat.

Cricke chuckled. “Yes, don’t get on Robards’ wrong side. If you ever need any help in a case, then I’m here to help.”

“Thank you,” Harry said politely. “Have a good afternoon.” Harry steadily walked passed them, and didn’t stop until he was safely in his office.

Ron was scrambling to sit up properly on his chair again. “Done already? What’s with that face, Harry?”

“Cricke,” Harry muttered. “But the bill’s passed. Did you get anything done while I was gone?”

“Sort of?” Ron tried.

“Luna said there’s going to be celebrations.”

Ron perked up. “And lots of food?”

Harry laughed. “With the house-elves catering? Definitely.”

Ron nodded. “Let’s get some easy stuff done, and we’ll send the finished files _right_ at the end of the day so that Robards can’t give us anything more until tomorrow.”

After doing just that, Harry and Ron went their separate ways to change before re-meeting up in Knockturn.

There was nothing out of the ordinary on the street front. But when Harry stepped inside, there was _noise_ and there was _laughter._ The lighting was darker than typical, and there was food on all the tables. Somehow, Hermione spotted them from across the room, and she led them to where Pansy and Luna were sitting.

“Have some food!” she said, mostly to Ron who needed no other encouragement.

Harry was more sedate in choosing what to eat. “How are you, Hermione? How does it feel to finally take down the Register?”

Hermione’s eyes were bright. “Fantastic! Pansy’s going to start a pro-bono legal firm that I’m going to work at part-time. We can really make a difference!”

Parkinson leaned over. “It’s about time we started to sue the Ministry for all the things it keeps doing wrong. Might as well light a fire under their arses to get them moving,” she said, smirking.

“Ah,” Harry suddenly realised. “Where’s Malfoy?”

At that, Parkinson’s smirk dimmed a little. “He was here before, but he left after eating dinner rather quickly.”

Harry deflated. “Right. That’s a shame. A lot of this really started happening with him...”

Parkinson’s lips twisted. “Do you know why Draco does this? Why he works such long hours _and_ why he’s draining his coffers?”

Harry opened his mouth. “He—because—um...” Harry poked at his food. “We talked a while ago, about not being to help everyone. But he never said _why_.”

Parkinson sighed. “It’s because he feels like he _has_ to. Because he has a debt. To _you_. And to basically _everyone_ the Malfoy family has ever come in _contact_ with since the beginning of all Malfoys.”

Harry’s chest tightened. “Oh,” he said quietly.

Hermione’s expression was pensive. “I see.”

“Well, that’s kinda depressing,” Ron said. “Where’s Blaise to lighten things up?”

“At an evening fashion show,” Luna said, smiling. “He promised he’ll make me something fantastic.”

“Oh, did he make Malfoy’s ridiculous robes?” Ron asked. “I’d never seen so many white robes in my life.”

Harry listened quietly as Luna told Ron about Blaise’s clothes designing tendencies.

:::

The night wound down. Harry flooed back to Grimmauld Place after farewelling the others, but something still nagged him at the back of his mind.

Draco Malfoy, as always.

Harry found himself pacing and looking absently at the floo. He groaned and compulsively threw some floo powder in.

“Malfoy Manor!” he called, and stepped through.

One of the house-elves was there. “How may Penny help Mr. Potter?” the house-elf said.

“Can you take me to Malfoy? Where-ever he is?

Penny had a sad look on her face. “Master Draco has not been returning to the Manor. He is still being in Knockturn.”

“ _Oh_. Right, I’ll be going there, then.”

The floo from Malfoy Manor to the Knockturn building emerged right into Malfoy’s office.

Harry stumbled, as usual, all the while blinking rapidly. The room was brightly lit.

And _cold_.

Malfoy was hunched over his desk, writing, and Harry had the feeling that he’d been there all night, and that he would _continue_ all night.

Harry approached him, shivering a little as the residue warmth from his clothes dissipated. “Malfoy,” he said softly.

Malfoy straightened. His face was bland, as was his voice, “Good evening, Potter.”

Harry frowned. “Did you hear the news?”

“I did.” He placed his quill down carefully. “Is there anything I can help you with at this time? Have you been receiving my update reports?”

“Yeah, I have,” Harry said distractedly. He drew his muggle jacket around him. “It’s really cold in here.”

“Is it?” Malfoy drew his wand and cast a warming charm. “Is that better?”

Harry relaxed a little. “Yeah.” He pulled up a chair at Malfoy’s desk. “What are you doing? After today’s victory, you should take a break.” He reached over to take a look at some of Malfoy’s papers.

Malfoy’s hand slipped underneath, causing Harry’s hand to land on Malfoy’s instead of the papers.

“Shit, Malfoy, your hand’s really cold!” Harry exclaimed. He picked up Malfoy’s hand with both hands. “How long have you been sitting here?”

Malfoy yanked his hand back, hiding it under the desk. “I’m not cold,” he said. “I’ve been here since after dinner.”

“Maybe if you had more fat and muscle, and maybe if your hand wasn’t _ice cold_ , then I might believe you,” Harry retorted. He drew his own wand and cast a stronger warming charm. Harry placed his hand on the table. “Malfoy... _Draco_...”

Draco stiffened. “Yes?”

“Parkinson told me.” Harry took a breath. “Told me that you had a debt to me.”

“I do. I owe you my life as it is,” Draco said evenly.

“All this...I barely did anything. This is what _you’ve_ built,” Harry insisted.

“You defeated the Dark Lord. You gave a testified for me. Otherwise, I would still be in Azkaban for decades to come.”

Harry shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything. I was just doing what was right.”

“I know that you would not want me to give you something in return,” Draco said. “This is me, doing what is right, for you.”

Harry took a shaky breath. “I would much rather you did what was right because _you_ felt that it was right.”

“What I feel is inconsequential. Operationally, only my actions matter.”

“Then—then what about all the people that owe _you_?”

Draco’s head tilted slightly. “They don’t owe me. They owe you.”

“I don’t want any of this hanging on my shoulders,” Harry retorted. He pulled his arms around himself, noticing that Draco’s warming charm had faded and only Harry’s remained. “Maybe you should go to bed, with your warming charm dying so quickly.”

“But I’m not cold. I’m used to it.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “It’s getting cold in London, especially the nights,” he said, almost to himself. He stood up. “Draco, _go home_. This can wait til tomorrow when you’re refreshed.”

Draco shook his head. “I can continue right now.”

“When you’re more refreshed, you’d work _faster_ and make less mistakes,” Harry argued.

Something flickered across Draco’s face. “Very well,” he finally said. “Please floo out first, so that I can Ward up before I leave.”

“You _will_ cast the Wards right when I leave, and you will leave right after, _right_?” Harry took a step closer to Draco. He reached out a hand.

“I will,” Draco said.

Harry’s hand dropped. “Alright. I’ll see you soon. Maybe this weekend?”

Draco gave a nod.

“Alright,” Harry repeated. He gave Draco a measured look, before flooing back to Grimmauld Place.

Harry didn’t feel that much better. If anything, Draco’s at-a-distance behaviour was even more off-putting, and Harry wished he knew why.


	10. Chapter 10

 

Draco knew, academically, that it was getting colder. The skies across England were grey and gloomy, and there was frost and dew on the grass in the early mornings more often than not.

But it was nothing compared to the cold and damp of Azkaban. Draco had been truthful with Potter the other night. He _wasn’t_ cold. Draco preferred the oncoming coolness of the weather. It kept him focused. It reminded him of what he needed to do.

The Werewolf Register was destroyed and public positive sentiment towards werewolves was on the steady rise. The framework of help for werewolves and for the general homeless was in place, and whenever a driven ally of the more general non-human and mixed-human groups came up to Draco, it was easy to keep the framework and explicitly extend its eligibility parameters to include anyone who might want or need the help.

What Draco was working on now was...different.

:::

“ _What are you still doing here,_ Draco?”

Draco jolted at Pansy’s sudden appearance. He straightened and recomposed his face. “Working, as you might be able to see,” he said with a dry tone.

“I thought Blaise had taught you the lesson of taking breaks!” Pansy said sharply. She approached Draco’s desk with a look in her eye, and before Draco could stop her, she had spelled all the papers into her hands. “What’s this?” she said, starting to frown as she read Draco’s notes. “This isn’t charity work. Nor taxes.”

“It’s not.” Draco drew his wand and tried to summon the papers back, but his wand spluttered and Pansy’s grip was too strong.

Pansy sat down without looking and continued scanning through the papers. Her eyes alighted when she found Draco’s title page.

“Prison reform?” she said, giving Draco a narrow look. “You want to take down Azkaban?”

Draco drew his shoulders back. “Yes.”

“You went to Azkaban,” Pansy stated.

“I did. As did Greg.”

Pansy winced. “I haven’t seen him yet. I know Mills’ been over, though.”

“Yes.” Draco did know. He also knew that his mother had gone over to Greg, and Millicent’s motor bike friends had also been over. They had the right personalities, the right energy, to slowly draw Greg out. But how many ex-Azkaban prisoners had those kinds of friends left?

Pansy slowly put down the papers. “This is _extremely—_ well, even Hermione only speaks of it in the far-future tense. It was hard enough for her to get rid of the dementors.”

“Of which I am extremely grateful for.”

“This—” Pansy cut herself off and flipped through the papers. “Youth programs, rehabilitation, rights to standards of living...” she muttered. “This is a _lot_. And it’ll require close work with the Ministry.” She sighed. “I can understand wanting to make it better for those who really don’t deserve Azkaban in the first place. But there are certain people who...”

“Bellatrix came out _worse_ after Azkaban. My _father_ came out worse, and will be worse again when he finally comes out,” Draco said, chest tight. “I know what Azkaban is like.”

At that, Pansy put down the papers with a finality and really looked at Draco. “And I don’t. Because you _won’t tell me_.” She stood up and came around the desk to place a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “It’s been months since you got out. But you still haven’t told us.”

Draco tilted his head back to meet Pansy’s gaze. “If I tell you, would you help me?”

Pansy’s grip on Draco’s shoulder tightened.

“Friendship doesn’t quite work like that,” she grounded out. “I want to know because it’s clearly a big part of _you_ , and I want to understand because you’re my friend. And I’ll help you, because you’re my friend.” She paused and gave a wry smile. “You don’t have to tell me. Just...you need to sleep. If you run yourself haggard, you won’t be able to achieve all that you want do.” Her hand ran down Draco’s arm to grip Draco’s hand, tugging him into a standing position. Her hand tightened around Draco’s. “You’re _freezing!_ ”

“Potter said the same thing,” Draco said.

Pansy pursed her lips. “Draco, was it cold in Azkaban?”

Draco nodded.

“Right. We’re getting you back to the Manor now and into a toasty warm bed,” she said. She cast the customary wards and pushed Draco into the floo back to Malfoy Manor.

Pansy bodily hustled Draco back to his bedroom and cast a strong warming charm on his bed. “There.”

Draco took a deep breath and turned to her. “I’ll tell you. And Blaise,” he said. “You deserve to know.”

“Okay,” Pansy said evenly. “When will you like to tell us?”

“Now.”

Pansy hesitated. “Very well, I’ll call Blaise here and get the house-elves to make us some hot chocolate. Now go sit in your bed.”

Draco nodded, climbing into bed to Pansy’s approval. He took a few minutes of Pansy’s absence organise his thoughts.

Pansy returned with Blaise, both now in their sleeping clothes, and with three mugs of hot chocolate trailed behind her.

Draco sat up, propping himself up against his pillows.

“You take the other side,” Pansy told Blaise.

Draco raised an eyebrow when Pansy and Blaise got into his bed on either side of him.

Pansy handed Draco his mug. “This is the opposite of Azkaban, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Draco said quietly. The warmth was making it hard for him to immerse himself in his memories.

“Draco...” Blaise started. “Even if you did nothing, if you lazed around the Manor, we’ll still love you. You don’t need to prove yourself to be our friend.”

Draco didn’t look at either of them as he focused on remembering.

“If you can’t tell us...” Pansy started.

“Azkaban was dark and noisy, cold and wet,” Draco started.

Pansy and Blaise remained quiet as he told of the dementor chill that remained in the air, the echoes of dementor impressions that were sunk into Azkaban’s structural fabric. He told them of the endless nothing, of the guards who did the bare minimum.

Most of all, he told them about the other prisoners and the culture they formed in Azkaban. It wasn’t a place to stay sane. It wasn’t a place to reflect. It was a place to dig oneself deeper into the arrogance, the hatred, the despair that led to the incarceration. The vocal prisoners enabled each other, convincing each other of the rightfulness of their actions. They plotted and planned and formed alliances _right there_ , in the darkness where the guards only came down a few minutes every day.

Draco’s own father was one of them. Plotting and planning without reflection. And Draco...he had been too _scared_ at first to join in, and as long as he kept quiet, the loud prisoners would shout and argue and conspire amongst themselves. And then Draco had gotten better at occluding.

With a fair number of prisoners plotting to take down Harry Potter, it was unsurprising that Draco had remembered him. Had remembered Draco’s debt to him.

“But he doesn’t want it,” Draco said bitterly. “He doesn’t want me to pay back my debt, not to him, not to others.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Pansy said.

“I deserved it,” Draco said.

“But if you deserve it, then why do you want prison reform?” Pansy pointed out. “According to what I understand, if you saw your younger self _now_ , you’d want him to go through a youth rehabilitation program.”

Draco struggled inwardly. “I did _bad things_ , and that deserves punishment. _And_ ,” he said a little louder, “if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here _now_.”

“Or, you would have started doing all this three years ago,” Blaise said. “And now, a lot more things would have been done and you wouldn’t be _running_ all the time.”

“I don’t know, alright?” Draco said a little sharply. “I don’t know what to do with it all. I can’t personally help Greg. I don’t know what to do about those who don’t _want_ to change. I don’t know if any of this would help my father, I don’t know if some of the prisoners are too far gone to come back as acceptable members of society.” He flinched when Pansy and Blaise both extended their arms over his shoulders.

“And that’s why we’re not going to let you work alone,” Pansy said.

“You don’t have the monopoly on change,” Blaise added. “Working with us, and with others, will make what you create stronger. Single fibres are easy to snap, but twist them into thread and...” Blaise trailed off and gave Draco a meaningful look.

“As for Potter, it’s not that he doesn’t understand debts. The reason he doesn’t accept your repayment is that _he_ believes that he owes _you_ a debt.”

“ _Pardon_?” Draco leaned back to look at Pansy. Her face was serious.

“He never wanted you to go to Azkaban in the first place—that was why he gave his testimony at your trial. From his point of view, he owes you three years worth of debt. Especially since he has seen what you have done recently.”

“You need to talk to him, before you and he get the wrong ideas,” Blaise said. “And see what _magic_ has to say about it.”

“And don’t forget that for people like Potter, loyalty looks different. They value direct, honest friendship, rather than the promise to murder their enemies for them.”

Draco snorted despite himself.

Pansy smirked. “We’ll meet and talk about your next plans together tomorrow.”

“But for now, your only to-do item is sleeping,” Blaise said, man-handling Draco into a horizontal position.

“Why are you both still in my bed, then?” Draco said archly when his friends bracketed him on either side.

“To prevent you from escaping,” Pansy said lightly.

Blaise waved a negligent hand to turn the lights off. “Sweet dreams, dragon,” he teased.

Draco knocked his shoulder into Blaise’s. “Only my mother is allowed to say that.”

“Go to sleep, kids,” Pansy grumbled. “You both need your beauty sleep.”

“I detest your imp—” Blaise was suddenly cut off when Pany’s silencing charm fell on him.

Draco laughed beneath his breath, and to the warmth and quiet breathing of his friends, he fell asleep.

:::

Potter appeared at the Manor on Saturday morning looking very determined.

“Draco!” he called out, over all the breakfasting people in the Manor dining hall.

Draco immediately turned to Blaise. “Did you call him?” he hissed.

Blaise shrugged. “Not at all. You better attend to him before he embarrasses you further.” He patted Draco on the arm sympathetically.

Draco capitulated. “Fine.” He stood up, and quickly walked over to Potter, and pushed him out of the dining hall and into the closest drawing room.

“Hello, Draco,” Potter said. He grabbed Draco’s hand and _rubbed_ it. “You’re not cold,” he said with relief, dropping Draco’s hand.

“I’m not cold,” Draco repeated. “As I’ve been saying.”

“We’re going out to Diagon,” Potter declared. “Do you want to change into something else?”

“My robes are respectable. Perhaps it is you who should change into more suitable attire,” Draco said.

“No thanks,” Potter said. “Where’s the floo room again?”

Draco sighed. There was nothing for it, but to follow Potter. They flooed to the Leaky Cauldron and soon emerged onto Diagon Alley. Still somewhat early on a Saturday morning, the shops were open and the shoppers were mostly old witches.

Potter ignored them all. “Follow me,” he ordered.

Dutifully, Draco followed him. Draco staggered to a stop when he realised exactly where Potter wanted to take him.

Ollivanders.

“Come _on_ ,” Potter insisted.

“Did you owl ahead? That is the minimum level of politeness required—”

“It’s fine, everyone’s back at Hogwarts already. Ollivander knows me. Or, he knows Luna, who knows me...”

“I also know Lovegood, but feelings are not transitive,” Draco said. He glanced at the shop window, and only saw the reflection of himself and Potter and the street.

There was a peculiar look in Potter’s eye as he took a step towards Draco. His hand darted out, grabbing Draco’s hand, and he was dragging Draco bodily into the shop.

“Mr. Ollivander, it’s Harry Potter,” Potter called out.

As they reached the shop counter, Ollivander appeared from the shelves. His eyes immediately landed on Draco.

“And, er, Draco Malfoy,” Potter said.

“Good morning, sir,” Draco said stiffly.

Ollivander’s gaze shifted back to Potter. “Holly, 11 inches, phoenix feather,” he said. “It served you well.”

Potter straightened. “Yeah, but Draco’s wand also worked for me. It was what I used to defeat Voldemort with.”

“Is that so...” Ollivander leaned forward over the counter, peering at Draco. “Hawthorn, 10 inches, unicorn hair. But you have changed since you were a young boy.”

“He has,” Potter asserted. “His old wand doesn’t work for him anymore, so I was wondering if you could find Draco a wand that fits him _now_.”

“There’s a wand in your pocket, Mr. Malfoy. Give it here.”

Draco quickly drew his wand and passed it to Ollivander by the handle.

Ollivander’s eyebrows shot up. “This—this is an old wand...” he went to his huge tome, flicking through it. “Ah, yes, Elizabeth Katherine Malfoy, 1584. Unicorn hair, once again, 9 inches, black walnut. Yes...a wand that’s easy enough to use, but hard to use to its fullest potential.”

“I noticed that Draco’s warming charms were failing really quickly lately,” Potter said.

Draco shot him a look. Had Potter being paying that much attention?

Ollivander reluctantly handed the wand back. “Perhaps another unicorn hair,” he mused. He trotted to the shelves and re-emerged with a handful of wand boxes. “Try these, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco did so, but each reacted with a weaker fizzle than the last.

“No, this cannot do,” Ollivander swept up the wands. “Perhaps the change has been greater than expected...”

When he emerged again, he had one wand. “Pheonix feather, hawthorn, 10-and-a-half inches,” he said. “A little of you, a little of Mr. Potter.”

Draco apprehensively took it and gave it wave. What it produced was an explosion. Draco immediately dropped the wand, and Ollivander took it back.

“No, no!” Ollivander mumbled. He stopped and peered at Draco. “As difficult was Mr. Potter was when he was young one,” he muttered. “But very different.” A pensive expression came across his face. “Perhaps...”

Draco sneaked a glance at Potter.

Potter grimaced. “This time maybe?” he whispered.

Draco straightened when Ollivander returned.

“I’ve heard great things about you recently, Mr. Malfoy,” Ollivander said. He passed Draco a wand.

Draco immediately felt a rush of strength and a hum from the wand. It was sturdy and firm and when Draco gave it a swish, the magic came out easily, swirls of light that floated around him.

Ollivander smiled in satisfaction. “Applewood, dragon heartstring, 11 inches. A wand for a wizard with high ideals and goals, with the power to see them into fruition.” His look became pointed. “Easier to turn to dark spells than unicorn hair.”

Draco swallowed. “Yes.”

Potter shifted on his feet when silence extended. “Bill it to my vault,” Potter said.

“I’m not poor,” Draco shot back.

“I insist. Mr. Ollivander, please don’t listen to Draco.”

Ollivander’s eyebrows went up as he looked between the two of them. “Understood, Mr. Potter.”

“Thanks!” Potter opened the door out, and motioned for Draco to follow him.

Draco glanced back at Ollivander. “Thank you. I’m sorry about—the past. The Manor now has a basement gymnasium.”

Ollivander nodded slowly. “Yes, Ms. Lovegood has written so.”

“Have a good day, sir,” Draco bowed his head.

Potter was waiting for him outside, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Well?”

“You could have warned me,” Draco said. “I could have bought a gift for Ollivander.”

“You still can,” Potter said.

“Potter, am I free to go now?”

People were starting to look at them, and Draco sense the flash of cameras in his peripheral vision.

“No,” Potter said, with the grace to be contrite. “You were so...down the other day, so I invited Andromeda and Teddy over to Grimmauld Place. They’re coming in the morning, and staying for lunch. I want you to meet them.”

“Which is _now_ ,” Draco said. “I need to buy _them_ a gift.”

“It’s _fine_ , they’re family,” Potter insisted. He held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll side-along you.”

Draco sighed. “Very well.” However, the moment Draco grabbed Potter’s hand, _Draco_ apparated them to Malfoy Manor.

“Shit, what?” Potter spluttered, as he swayed and fell onto the lounge.

“You’ll wait here while I quickly procure some gifts,” Draco said archly.

Potter sighed. “ _Fine_.”

In short time, Draco was back with a bouquet of flowers and a box, finding Potter flipping aimlessly through the coffee-table books.

Potter perked up and put the books down. “Those for me?” he joked.

Draco tilted his head towards the floo. “You go first.”

“I live at Number 12 Grimmauld Place,” Potter said seriously.

Draco nodded. He transferred the items to one arm and flooed after Potter.

“Welcome to my place,” Potter said, spreading his arms.

Draco looked around curiously. There was a large family tapestry—and his own name appeared to be on it. The furniture was well-worn, the rug extremely soft, and the floor scattered with toys.

Only a few moments later, the floo flared again, and Andromeda and a little child stepped through.

Draco spoke first, holding out the bouquet of flowers. “Good morning, Aunt Andromeda. These are for you.”

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, Draco,” she said, taking it. She rested a hand on the child’s hair, which was bright turquoise-turning-black. “This is Teddy. Teddy, this is your cousin, Draco.”

Draco shifted the box into two hands and knelt down in front of Teddy.

Teddy’s eyes widened and he gripped Andromeda’s leg.

“Good morning, cousin Teddy. I’m Draco,” Draco said, holding out the box. “These are for you.”

A grin came onto Teddy’s face. “For me?” He made grabby-hands at the box.

Draco set the box down and let Teddy open it. Teddy reached inside and pulled—and pulled—out a huge dragon soft-toy that was large as Teddy.

Teddy laughed. “Wo-ow!” he said, shaking the toy.

“What do you say?” Andromeda murmured.

Teddy grinned toothily. “Thank you! C’mon, Dwaco, Uncle Hawwy has heaps of toys!”

“Does he?” Draco said, glancing at all the toys scattered on the ground.

Teddy carefully placed the dragon into its sitting position and ran to a large semi-clear box, beckoning Draco over.

One by one, Teddy pulled out his favourite toys: building blocks, dolls, and other soft toys.

“Do you want to play with these?” Draco inquired.

“No!” Teddy said. He went and hugged the dragon toy. “I want to play with this now.”

Draco shook his head in exasperation. “Did you know it can breath fire?”

“ _Really?!_ ”

“Come here,” Draco beckoned. Teddy obediently came to Draco’s side.

“Ready? _Inferno!_ ”

A huge column of fire appeared around the dragon, spreading until it enveloped the room. It felt like a blast of warm air.

“Shit, Draco, I thought you were going to burn down my house!” Potter had drawn his wand—and that was when Draco noticed the wizarding camera.

“Potter, what is _that_?”

Potter grinned and lifted up the camera. “Teddy, say cheese! Tell your cousin Draco to smile too.”

Teddy tugged Draco’s hand. “Cheese!” he said exuberantly.

Draco rubbed his eyes and pulled a smile at the camera.

After the camera flash, Teddy was back with the dragon. “That was _sooooooooo_ cool!” he said. “Do it again!”

Draco sneaked a glance at Andromeda. Andromeda raised an eyebrow and gave a smile that was only a _little_ sharp at the edges.

Draco turned to Teddy. “It can do a lot of things,” Draco told him. “ _Flame wheel!_ ”

That produced a ring of illusionary fire. Teddy poked at it, giggling. “More!”

Draco focused his attentions on entertaining Teddy and did his best to ignore Potter’s increasingly unusual positions as he took photos.

Potter and Andromeda made lunch while Draco kept Teddy occupied. During lunch, Teddy chatted about the dragon a mile-a-minute to Andromeda and Potter.

“Draco’s so nice, isn’t he?” Potter said fondly at both Teddy and Draco.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Am I really?”

“I love you!” Teddy declared, giggling. “Dwaco dragon!”

Potter smirked. “Is that the name of your new toy?”

“Dwaco dragon!” Teddy confirmed.

“I’m honoured,” Draco said in a sincere tone. “A dragon is a majestic creature to be. Teddy, do you have a Harry Potter doll?”

“Yeah!” Teddy said enthusiastically. “From Uncle George!”

Draco shot a smirk at Potter, who was blushing. “Is that so?” Draco murmured. “I’ll have to see it one day.”

Teddy turned to Andromeda. “Grandmama, can Uncle Dwaco play with me?”

“Another day,” she said indulgently. “You need to have a nap after this.”

At that, Teddy yawned. “Yes, Grandmama.”

Andromeda smiled. “I better take him home now,” she said.

They all stood up from the dining table and filed into the drawing room.

Teddy trotted over to his dragon, hugging it. “Let’s go.”

Andromeda shook her head. “Why don’t we put him back in his box first?” she persuaded. “We’ll take him out right after.”

Teddy nodded and helped Andromeda stuff the dragon back into the box.

“Thank you,” Draco told her.

“You’re welcome,” she said warmly.

“Bye-bye Dwaco. Bye-bye Hawwy,” Teddy said sleepily.

Draco and Potter waved back.

With the box and bouquet of flowers in one arm, and Teddy in her other, Teddy threw the floo powder and they both flooed away.

:::

:::

:::

Harry smiled happily, heart full. “You were a natural,” he told Draco.

Draco shrugged one shoulder. His eyes narrowed as he turned to Harry. “About those photos...”

Harry grinned, taking a half-step back away from Draco. “It’ll take me a few days for me to get them processed if you want them in a hurry.”

Draco took a step closer. “Only if you...”

Harry inhaled sharply when Draco took another step.

“Yeah?”

“If you let me vet them first.”

Harry laughed in surprise. “Are you afraid I got your bad side?”

“If Pansy saw them...”

Harry grinned and took a step closer until there was barely an inch between them. “You don’t have a bad side.”

Draco’s eyes were so grey and pale. And then his eyelids covered them.

“You don’t know what that goes inside my mind,” he breathed. “I _wanted_ it. I wanted the Dark Mark. I _wanted_ to hurt them. I wanted to hurt you.”

Harry gave a wry smile. “That was past-you,” he said. “Present-you doesn’t. And future-you is what you make of yourself.”

Draco grimaced, his eyes opening. “Those words are too elegant for you.”

“I heard it somewhere,” Harry admitted.

Draco’s lips parted and his head turned away a little. “My father never apologises.”

Harry held back his retort. “Yes?”

“Do you know why I haven’t apologised to anyone?”

“I...I honestly never thought about it,” Harry said. “You’ve been—all _busy_ since you got out.”

Draco gave one shake of his head. “Because I barely gave it thought. My debt, the Malfoy Family’s debt, cannot be repaid in empty words. But apologies are not empty.”

“They can be. Are you...”

Draco’s eyebrow raised.

“Are you gearing up to apologise to me?”

Draco scoffed. “Of course not. I’m sorry, Potter.”

Harry blinked. “Right, because that sounded like a not-pology.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being on the wrong side. For following blindly.”

Harry sighed and touched Draco lightly on the arm. “You went to Azkaban, as charged by the Wizengamot. Draco, I’m trying very hard not to get lost in the past. It cannot be changed.”

Draco flinched and he took a step away. Harry frowned when Draco’s expression settled into neutrality.

“Yes.”

Harry was hit with a sense of desperation. “Shit, Draco, what did I do wrong? Merlin, don’t shut me out. Whatever it is, just _say_ it to me. I can take it!”

Draco shook his head. “You did nothing wrong. I merely remembered.”

“Remembered _what_?”

“Azkaban.”

“What was it like?”

“Did you never do a shift there as an Auror?”

Harry shook his head. “War hero, Robards said that it was a bad idea. Did they—?”

Draco met Harry’s gaze, but his eyes weren’t quite focused. “There is no good there,” Draco said lowly. “It drains your warmth, your happiness. How can you expect prisoners to leave there _better_? Sometimes, when I forget myself, everything _drains_ away. Sometimes I wonder whether it’ll all work much better if I take my wand to the throat of my opponents.”

“Been there, done that,” Harry muttered. “I tried shouting at everyone after the War. It didn’t work.”

“And if it didn’t work for the _Saviour_ , then what about the rest of us?”

Harry smiled wryly, inwardly relieved that Draco was lively again. “Exactly. Maybe, in another life, in another world, we would have the power and strength of mind to take over the world benevolently. Maybe, in another life, in another world, we wouldn’t need to do anything because it would be _right_ already.”

“But it’s not.”

“But it’s not,” Harry agreed. “So we try. But you cannot do everything at once. We’re wizards, not almighty supreme beings.” Harry held Draco’s gaze, infusing it with as much _emotion_ and _camaraderie_ as he could, hoping that maybe Draco would _get_ it, even if it were with some latent legilimency.

Draco nodded jerkily. He twisted on his heel and took a seat on the lounge. “I’m working on something new,” he said abruptly.

“Yeah?” Harry, after a moment, took a seat next to him.

“Prison reform.”

“Ah. That’s going to be a lot harder than the werewolf register abolition.”

“I heard Granger was responsible for the removal of dementors.”

Harry nodded. “She also helped do away with the Kiss. Said it was too American and as British wizards, we should know better than that,” he added with a grin.

“Is that the angle we should go with? Being better than the Americans?”

Harry laughed. “Probably not, we have more Americans in the Ministry now than back then. But you should talk to Hermione.”

“Pansy mentioned as such.”

Harry hummed and stretched out his legs. “Do you really want to talk about work right now?”

“Or your non-existent hobbies?” Draco scoffed.

“Or _your_ non-existent hobbies,” Harry retorted. “Tell me something stupid.”

Draco smirked. “Then perhaps you should tell me about your recent days. I’m sure we’ll find something stupid there.”

“Draco! I thought you apologised for being mean,” Harry complained, pouting.

“I was teasing.” Draco’s smirk widened and he stretched out his own legs.

“Well, me and Ron have this ongoing case lately. There’s this old witch who lives out in the countryside, and I’m pretty sure she thinks we’re errand boys...” Harry told Draco about all the ‘quests’, as she called them, that witch had sent Ron and himself on.

In response, Draco opened up about some of the antics that went around with the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor. They exchanged stories like that, and all too soon, the entire afternoon had gone by.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Harry asked. “I could cook something, or we could go out to Muggle London. Or get takeaway.”

Draco had started to shake his head, but then he stopped. “What is takeaway?”

“Ah, it’s when you order food and you take it home to eat.”

“Unfortunately, there are many house-elves who _really_ want to create food.”

“Can they make Thai food?”

“Glicky,” Draco said.

Harry winced when a foreign house-elf apparated into the room.

“Yes, Master Draco?” Glicky gave Harry a curious look. “Mister Harry Potter!”

“Can you make Thai food?”

“Glicky cannot but Glicky knows who can!”

“Great,” Harry said, “can you get us a selection of food? We’d like to eat here.”

“Of course! An elf will here soon.” Glicky disapparated.

Harry brushed his hands. “Sorted.”

“Shall we set the table?”

“No, what?” Harry grinned and shook his head. “Of course not! The point of takeaway is eat it while lounging around.” He flicked his wand and the coffee table moved over to them. Another wand flick and assorted cutlery appeared. “That’s basically it.”

“New experiences are good for me,” Draco muttered under his breath.

Harry grinned.

Draco tapped his chin. “Potter, you still haven’t told me what an angel is.”

“Merlin, I said that _ages_ ago.”

“No crime goes unpunished,” Draco said with a smirk.

“ _Or_ , you remember everything I say because it’s all so good,” Harry smirked back.

“Of course not. I merely have a superior memory.”

“Uh-huh.” Harry swung his feet up onto the sofa so that he faced Draco properly. “I’ll tell you if you call me Harry.”

“What’s wrong with _Potter_? Potta is a very good Indian name.”

“All my friends call me Harry. And Hari is a very good desi name,” Harry added.

“I’ll just ask Pansy, then.”

“Methinks you protest to much,” Harry teased. “C’mon, it’s _my_ name. Do it for me.”

Draco’s eyelids lowered. “ _Harry_ ,” he said lowly.

Harry gulped. “Yeah, that’s my name.”

Draco smirked. “Harry,” he said again. “Harry, what is an angel?”

“Er—well, Draco...” Harry scrambled to recollect his thoughts. “An angel is a creature that some Muggles believe in. The modern versions are like...veela, but without the scary beaks and flame-throwing. They have huge white wings, long hair, and white robes.”

“I’m clearly without huge wings, or perhaps you’re blinder than I thought, Harry.”

“Yes, _well_.” Harry stuck out a foot and poked Draco in the side with it. “Oops, sorry, didn’t see you there.”

Draco twisted on the sofa. “Your _dirty_ socks.”

“Pardon? I can’t see if they’re dirty.” Harry stretched out his other leg a little. “Oh, woops,” he said again when he poked Draco’s thigh. He stretched his legs out even more until they were on Draco’s lap. Harry squinted. “What is that lump on my sofa there?”

“Don’t make me,” Draco warned.

“Make you smile?”

Draco looked like he was about to tackle Harry, but he withdrew.

Harry shifted his feet in Draco’s lap, getting them comfortable. “Oh, this is so comfortable.”

Something sparked in Draco’s eye and he suddenly moved, tackling Harry down. A hand ran down Harry’s side and then—

Harry giggled, and those giggles turned into all-out laughter, as Draco-bloody-Malfoy _tickled_ him.

“What about making _you_ smile,” Draco said, his voice light and his grin sharp.

“This—this is even more comfortable!” Harry said between bouts of laughter. “I yield, I yield!”

“Ah.” Draco immediately stopped. “ _This_ is comfortable?”

 _This_ was their legs all akimbo half on half off the sofa, all the cushions long fallen to the floor.

“Isn’t it?” Harry said, sitting up.

Draco followed suit, but this time they were seated closer than before. Not a moment too soon, really, when a house-elf appeared with laden dishes and plates.

“Master Draco and Mister Harry Potter, Thai food as requested.”

“Oh, thank you, Saky,” Draco said. “If you could just set them down on the table.”

The house-elf nodded, did so, and disapparated.

Harry contentedly ate his Thai faux-takeaway, watching the entertainment that was Draco Malfoy eating whilst sitting on the lounge.

After eating, Harry finally took Draco on a tour of his house.

“I’m mildly surprised that you live in such a big house by yourself,” Draco said consideringly.

Harry rubbed the back of his head. “Ron and Hermione used to live here too, and a couple of others passed through. But everyone’s settled down now in their own places. It’s alright,” Harry shrugged. “I see a lot of people every day. Tomorrow’s the Sunday lunch at the Burrow.”

Draco cast a _tempus_ and sighed. “Well, we must end here. It was good spending time with you. Surprisingly.”

Harry knocked his shoulder. “What’s so surprising about it? Maybe you didn’t know me well enough before.”

“An afternoon with my parole Auror?”

Harry grimaced. “Right, no, let’s not think about the inherent power imbalance in that. Oh, at least you don’t have to write a report for today.”

“Small mercies,” Draco said in a wry tone. He walked back to the drawing room and Harry trailed after him.

Harry looked around the room, smiling fondly. It was a mess, which he’ll probably won’t deal with until Teddy’s next visit.

“I’ll see you later, Harry.”

“See-you.” Harry raised a hand in farewell, and he only dropped it once the flames lost their green again.

Harry smiled and flopped back on the sofa.

:::

Harry was instantly on alert when he entered the Auror department on Monday morning.

There was a tension in the air, and the other Aurors—the older ones especially—were giving out narrow-eyed looks at everyone else.

Harry near-tip-toed to his office, meeting Ron who was coming back from the tea room with two mugs of tea.

“Thanks,” Harry said gratefully, taking his golden mug. “Do you know what’s up?”

Ron shook his head. “Dunno, but Robards is _really_ pissed off, if the indistinct shouting coming from his office is anything to go by.”

“He’ll tell us if it’s important,” Harry said reluctantly.

“Yeah.”

The two of them went through their in-box for the paperwork that had come in since Friday night, and spent their morning doing said paperwork. (Harry _really_ needed to keep Eric in Filings not-angry.)

“Lunch at the cafetaria today?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

If it were possible, the climate in the Auror department had become even chillier.

“Did someone die?” Ron muttered to Harry.

“Wouldn’t they be sad if that were the case?” Harry muttered back.

The Ministry cafeteria was busy, so they grabbed some mediocre food to eat back at the department.

“Oh, did you know me and Draco had elf-takeaway the other night? Thai food, and it was _really_ good.”

Ron groaned and shook his sandwiches in Harry’s face. “Did you have to make me jealous right _now_?”

They wandered into the tea room and found Macmillan and a couple of other Aurors talking quietly. They stopped when they saw Harry and Ron.

“Hi, all,” Ron greeted. “What are you’all having for lunch?”

Macmillan shrugged. “Sandwiches.” He glanced between the two of them. “You both look rather calm. Have you heard the news?”

Harry shook his head. “Robards hasn’t sent a memo, has he?”

Macmillan scoffed. “No, but if you took a walk around the department, then you’d probably spot it right away. Auror Cricke’s office suddenly has level-9 security clearance wards on them, and no-one’s seen him since Friday afternoon.”

“Keith, Ganhd, Williams, and Trimp are gone, too,” added one of the others.

“Huh.” Harry took a seat next to Ron. “But why?”

“ _That_ , we don’t know,” Macmillan said. “I heard that Robards’ been to the Minister’s Office in the last few hours.”

Ron took a bite of his first sandwich. “So, what’y’all thinking it’s ‘cause?” he asked around his food.

Harry ate his own sandwich quietly while the others put forth their suspicions and hypotheses.

“And you?” Macmillan turned to them.

Ron shrugged. “I heard about the recent Smith trial. If it was just Keith and Williams, then it might have been that—they pretty much admitted to breaking to a couple of rules and stuff. But the others? I don’t know.”

Macmillan’s eyes narrowed. “The Smith trial?”

“It was a public trial,” Harry spoke up.

“Maybe we should take a look at it later.”

“Right, after we get more work done,” Ron said with a sigh. “Paperwork is such a _bore_.”

One of the older Aurors laughed. “Relish your safety while you still have it,” she said.

Ron and Harry went back to their office, and there was a new memo—but not from Robards. Harry let Ron take it while Harry attempted to re-organise his desk in preparation for more work.

“It’s from Haart and Shafiq,” Ron said distractedly.

Harry immediately looked at Ron. “What did they write?”

“They did it. They submitted the charges and evidence to Kingsley and Robards.”

“That’s why!”

Ron nodded. “I guess the others were involved as well.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. But I wonder what’s going to happen the department finds out.”

Harry grimaced. “We’re going to look guilty, aren’t we?”

“You’ve been looking guilty since you were eleven,” Ron joked. “And we _did_ play a role in it all.”

:::

That afternoon, Robards’ memo came round to all the Aurors.

> _Attention All_

> _The following Aurors have been suspended with charges pending:_

> _Auror Cricke_

> _Auror Ganhd_

> _Auror Keith_

> _Auror Trimp_

> _Auror Williams_

> _Do NOT ask me for more details._

> _\- Head Auror G. Robards._

“The man has said it himself,” Ron say, shaking the memo.

“Want some more tea?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Harry took their mugs to the tea room. He felt a sense of deja vu when he saw Brown at the table, newspaper in hand and Robards’ memo on the table.

“Afternoon, Brown,” Harry said, moving to put the magic kettle on.

Brown put down his newspaper. “Potter, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Yes?” Harry grabbed two tea bags and plopped them into his and Ron’s mugs.

“This is about Malfoy.”

Harry was instantly on alert. “What of it? Me and Ron are technically his parole officers.”

“I know,” Brown said, a sharp edge to his voice. “But that doesn’t mean the rest of us cannot investigate him for criminal activity. He was at a Fidelius-protected location all Saturday. And before that, he was in Diagon Alley, where he was spotted with you.”

“He was me all Saturday,” Harry said, leaning back against the counter. “I wanted him to meet my godson, who’s also his cousin.”

“You’ve been spotted with him multiple times,” Brown said. “You came to his aid when he was accosted.”

“I’m a good Auror,” Harry said, bristling. “He needed help, I provided it within my role as an Auror.”

“Is that _all_ it is?” Brown questioned. “Were those wizards and witches _really_ attacking Malfoy, or was he attacking them?”

Harry was aghast. “What are you _talking_ about?”

“You’re becoming compromised, Potter.”

Harry flinched when the kettle finished. Clenching his teeth, he poured out the hot water. “We’ll see about that.”

“Oh, and Potter?” Brown said just as Harry was at the door. “I know you’re behind Cricke’s suspension. I know you’ve been working with Malfoy and his co-conspirators on the pro-werewolf legislation.”

“Oh yes, me, and Hermione, and even the Minister helped, because it was the _right_ thing to do. It’s made a real, positive change in people’s lives,” Harry snapped. “Maybe you should try being more naive and idealistic about making the world a better place. Good day, Auror Brown.”

Harry stomped back to the office.

“Uh-oh,” Ron said immediately upon looking at Harry. “What did you do?”

“I snapped at Brown. He knows about Cricke.”

“Knowing about Cricke is paying attention. What else happened?”

“Says I’m associating with Draco. Of course I am!” Harry sat his arse on his chair. “Let’s do some more work, maybe it’ll numb my anger.”

“I don’t think it works that way...unless you want to show-up Brown by being an even better Auror.”

“Exactly,” Harry hissed.

“Ah, that’s the spirit,” Ron said jovially. “Just don’t be angry for too long, yeah? It’s not good for your health.”

“Thanks, Ron.”

Harry’ll deal with Brown another day. Right now, he needed to finish his paperwork.


	11. Chapter 11

> _WITCH WEEKLY – SUNDAY FLASH EDITION_
> 
> _SOMETHING MORE BETWEEN HARRY POTTER AND EX-DEATH EATER MALFOY?!_
> 
> Spotted: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
> 
> Where: Diagon Alley
> 
> Wearing: H.P. - Muggle leather coat, red T-shirt, relaxed-fit jeans and off-brand sneakers. D. M. - Zabini pale blue robes with damask pattern and white boots.
> 
> What: H.P. and D. M. visited Ollivanders. H.P. then side-alonged D.M. to unknown location.
> 
> Why: Perhaps there is something more H.P. and D.M. are hiding from W.W. readers...

:::

> _DAILY PROPHET – MONDAY XX_
> 
> _COLLUSION BETWEEN SAVIOUR HARRY POTTER AND EX-CONVICT DRACO MALFOY_
> 
> Mr. Potter was seen in company of Death Eater Malfoy on Saturday morning walking down Diagon Alley. They were first spotted in the Leaky Cauldron, from where they subsequently visited Ollivander’s Wand shop. After a long time, they finally emerged, speaking cordially amongst themselves.
> 
> This is not the first time Mr. Potter has been seen conversing with Mr. Malfoy. Recently, they played key parts in the destroying the Werewolf Register.
> 
> This humble reporter has reason to believe that Mr. Malfoy has subverted Mr. Potter into his scheme to destroy our Ministry. See spread on pages 4, 5 for our breakdown of Malfoy’s schemes.

:::

> _WARLOCK – TUESDAY XX_
> 
> _DRACO MALFOY SPOTTED WITH NEW ZABINI ROBES WITH FIT HARRY POTTER_
> 
> Draco Malfoy was spotted with a new line of Zabini robes this Saturday on a morning outing with Harry Potter. From images (see below), we suspect cotton-wool blend white robes overlayed with an intricate pattern in enchanted pale blue thread. Embed charms ensure constant correct fall and billow of the robes. This follows Blaise Zabini’s recent announcement to the fashion world that he will be releasing a mid-winter collection...

Draco stopped reading when that article went into the minutiae of fashion. He stared at disbelief at all the articles that had been wrung out from his brief public appearance with Harry.

Pansy chose that time to swan into the room. She smirked. “Ah, so you have read them.”

“I don’t know which type of article I prefer,” Draco muttered.

“What’s wrong with any of them?” Pansy used a finger to shift the pages around. “You _are_ scheming with Potter. And you _are_ doing stuff with Potter. And you _are_ wearing Blaise Zabini.”

“It sounds like I’m either imperusing or bribing Harry,” Draco scowled. “And it’s highly peculiar that they’re paying such close attention to what I wear. I’m _not_ a model. And the papers make it sound like there is something scandalous between myself and Harry.”

“Potter almost literally gave you a _new wand_ , Draco,” Pansy said, shaking him. “You spent the entire Saturday with him.”

“And that’s scandalous?” Draco said dubiously. “The standard of reporting has dropped since before.”

Pansy stood tall and placed her hands behind her straight back. “Mr. Malfoy, do you swear by magic to tell the truth?”

“No,” Draco said.

Pansy moved on regardless. “Mr. Malfoy, do you regard yourself as an acquaintance or more with Mr. Potter?”

“You know the answer,” Draco deadpanned.

“Mr. Malfoy, would you like to spend more time with Mr. Potter?”

Draco just looked at her.

Pansy leaned in. “Mr. Malfoy, do you ever think about snogging Mr. Potter?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “As much as you do.”

“I’m totally gay,” Pansy rolled her eyes. “And I’m quite sure Mr. Potter is a boy.” She leaned in further such that she spoke into Draco’s ear. “Mr. Malfoy, do you ever think about touching Mr. Potter?”

Draco inhaled sharply. “His smarmy face, maybe.”

“ _Draco_.”

Draco tilted his head away from Pansy. “If I did, I’d rather speak to him about it _first_.”

“It’s natural if you do,” Pansy said. “Objectively, Potter is a charming wizard. And no, you’re not, darling,” she added, smirking.

Draco swept up all the non-work papers with a sweep of his wand and deposited them in Pansy’s arms. “Take them. Let me do work.”

:::

Draco was on alert when Harry walked into his office before dinner. He immediately put down his quill. “Potter.”

“It’s Harry,” Harry said with an eyeroll. He took a seat. “I was thinking...”

“Dangerous, that.”

Harry snorted. “I read the recent papers.”

“And?”

“I thought we could talk about it.” Harry pulled a face. “I don’t need misunderstandings making my life more complicated. I’m _so done_ with angsting.”

Draco summoned a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. “They think I’m plotting something evil.”

“You’re definitely plotting,” Harry snorting. “Some of the Aurors think so too.”

Draco flipped the newspaper to the two-page spread. “I’m not planning to overthrow or dismantle the Ministry.”

“The _Prophet_ runs cycles about a pre-eminent political coup from me fairly often,” Harry said.

Draco tapped the newspaper. “I would support you.”

Harry shook his head furiously. “Have you seen Kingsley’s level of paperwork and sheer bureaucracy? No thanks!”

“Very well. This will die down by the time we start the prison reform agenda.” Draco moved that aside, passed over the _W_ _arlock_ which was ultimately focused on each of them separately, and picked up the _Witch Weekly_.

“No _Nonbinary Nightly_?” Harry joked.

“Tell Lovegood and she’ll be on it,” Draco said. “The _Witch Weekly_ is assuming a particular non-political relationship structure between us.”

“It’s sort of vague...”

Draco snorted. “Yes, and the hearts they drew over the photos of us are extremely subtle.”

“ _Speaking_ of photos, I have the ones with Teddy back home.”

Draco sighed. “Do as you will.”

Harry perked up. “Really? You were reticent the other day.”

“I have accepted that you have taken them.” Draco shrugged one shoulder. “And I assume you will distribute them without ill intent.”

Harry rubbed his hands together. “I better do something _really evil_ with them then,” he said.

Draco didn’t even bother to raise an eyebrow.

Harry snorted. “You’re no fun. About the relationship thing...” He took out a slightly crumpled paper crane from his pocket.

Something was happening in Draco’s chest.

Harry cradled the paper crane. “I can’t believe you still make these.”

Draco breathed. “That’s not nearly as peculiar as the fact that you kept it. Albeit in horrible condition. Give it here.” Draco beckoned it, and some residue magic in the paper crane allowed it to fly over to Draco. Draco drew his wand and tapped the crane, easing out crumpling. Satisfied, the crane flew back to Harry...and nested in his hair.

Harry looked up through his mess of a fringe, hand tentatively petting it. “Damn it, Draco, it has as much a thing for my hair as you do.”

Draco choked. “ _Pardon_?”

Harry put his hands in his lap. “You do,” he said with a smile.

Draco breathed slowly. “You’re fine with what _Witch Weekly_ is assuming.”

Harry smiled. “Yeah. Do you mind?”

“I can bear it.”

Harry frowned. “Haven’t you thought about it?”

“Hypotheticals are just that,” Draco said drily. He glanced away.

“Draco, hey,” Harry said. He stood up.

Draco tensed when Harry walked over to Draco’s side of the desk and levitated a chair over to sit next to Draco.

“Hermione always tells me to communicate more. And to be aware when—you know—when toxic masculinity tries to get in the way of making _good_ things happen.”

Draco clenched his teeth. He didn’t know _what_ he should be thinking. He had thought—he had thought that he’d have more time to mull over the articles. He had entertained the possibility that maybe Harry would just move on from it and give Draco the excuse not to have to think about it.

Fleeting images and potential futures flashed in Draco’s mind as he stared in Harry’s eyes. His head ached at trying to figure out how it would _fit_ with everything else Draco wanted to do. Groaning, he put his face in his hands.

“Shit, _Draco_ , are you alright?”

Harry’s hand was suddenly on Draco’s shoulder. Draco jerked back.

“Would it work?” Draco muttered into his hands.

Harry was silent for a long moment, to the point that Draco started to sigh.

“I hope so,” Harry said, in a strained voice.

Draco breathed in and looked up. “And your evidence to back your statements?”

Harry grinned wryly and tapped his head, and then his heart. “The evidence is all here.”

Draco was not amused.

Harry’s face took on a more serious expression. “As long as we’re two consenting adults, it’s _fine_ , Draco.”

“But what would we _do_?” Draco asked, half in exasperation and half in desperation. “What constitutes a typical relationship? How long would it go for? How would it affect our work? Do we eat out? Do we eat in? Does one of us have to move in with the other?”

Harry looked taken aback. “I thought we could just wing it. Just _do_ it, and do the communicating-thing to make sure we’re agreeing on what we’re doing.”

Draco frowned. “We cannot just go head-long into something like this! I need to plan it out—”

“It’s not something that you can _plan out_ like one of your campaigns,” Harry snapped. “It’s an organic relationship!”

“ _You’re_ a public figure. _I’m_ a public figure! There will be repercussions for our campaigns,” Draco shot back. “I can already see the _gossip_ of our relationship overshadowing everything else!”

“If I listened to the papers, I’ll either get nothing done or I’ll be so overworked I’d probably landed in St. Mungos by now,” Harry said. He leaned forward and captured Draco’s hands. “Look, what I’m trying to say is, _we could do things one step at a time_.”

Draco clenched his jaw. Harry’s hands had callouses, and they were rough and warm over Draco’s.

“We can keep it out of the papers for now,” Harry said. “To be honest, I _want_ something with you. Something with romantic overtones.”

Harry’s hands were so warm.

“Like what?”

The corner of Harry’s lips quirked up. “Like hand holding.”

Draco snorted and relaxed a fraction. “If we’re being honest with each other—”

“Yes, Hermione said so,” Harry said quickly. “Also, Luna said so too.”

Draco scoffed. “Right.”

Harry pouted. “Come on, what were you going to say?”

“My magic is technically imbued in the crane on your head.”

Harry started to smile a little. “Yeah?”

“I _wouldn’t_ mind touching your hair. However, I feared that it would be improper, not to mention outright racist to do so.”

Harry’s smile softened as his eyes lit up. “Ask me. If it’s you, I don’t mind.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Very well, _Harry_ , may I touch your hair?”

Harry let go of Draco’s hands and shuffled forward in his chair. “Yeah, sure,” he said, bending his head over.

Draco threaded his fingers through Harry’s hair, careful to not dislodge the paper crane still nesting. It was curly, tangled, a little wiry and a little soft.

“You can move if you want,” Harry said. “Tug it a little.”

Draco gave Harry an appraising look, but did as Harry asked. He rubbed his hand into Harry’s hair, catching a little on the curls. He felt Harry shiver and sigh.

“You _like_ this,” Draco said, unable to stop the wonder in his voice.

“Isn’t it great that our wants align?” Harry said. “I don’t like this angle though, it’s making my neck hurt. If I was sitting in your lap, or in a lower position...”

Draco flushed, dropping his hand from Harry’s hair. “It’s almost dinner, Potter.”

“After?”

“In a hurry?”

Harry grinned. “Don’t you want to?”

“Then we have a decision to make. Your place or mine?”

“How about mine? I like the idea of cooking you breakfast.”

Draco smiled and sighed. “I don’t understand why you and so many house-elves like cooking for others.”

Harry stood up, tugging Draco up with him.

“For me, I like it. Ron’ll probably say it was my saviour complex. Hermione’ll would say it was because I was deprived of food and that no one cooked for me when I was a child.”

“ _Deprived of food_?” Draco said, aghast.

Harry rubbed the back of his head. “Right, yeah. My aunt and uncle weren’t the nicest of people.” Harry smiled wryly. “It’s partly why I work with the War Orphans. I don’t want it happening to anyone else.”

“Someone should give you a really long hug,” Draco said, shaking his head. “You’re more than I expected...or planned for.”

Harry pulled a face. “I am unplannable. I’m a whirlwind of surprise. I’m also very hungry now. Paperwork is hard work.”

“You’re eating here?”

“Yeah. Ron and Hermione are coming too, actually. And...” Harry looked sheepish. “I also asked Eric, from Filings, to come. I thought you could commiserate on paperwork together, and help get him on our side? I’ve bothered him often enough with all my file requests.”

“Very well, for _you_.”

Draco stopped Harry at the door. “Nothing public, understood?”

Harry snorted but smiled nonetheless. “I figured as much.”

Draco let Harry go out first. He glanced at Harry’s hair and smirked. The paper crane was still nested there.

:::

Eric Zhang was reading through the many flyers and leaflets Draco had outside, and Harry had to coax him in.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Eric Zhang said upon Harry’s introduction. “A file I’ve unfortunately seen too many times.”

“Eric Zhang, the wizard who single-handedly keeps the bureaucracy that is the Ministry running,” Draco replied in the same dry tone.

They shook hands.

“Potter, you could do to learn flattery like Malfoy here,” Zhang said.

Harry snorted, and Draco shot him a smirk.

“Do call me Draco,” Draco said to Zhang. “And that wasn’t flattery.”

Zhang’s eyes narrowed. “Everyone calls me Eric.” He glanced around the dining hall with a sharp eye. “I hope you’ve filed your paperwork for this place.”

“I have. Take a seat.”

Eric did so, and Draco sat next him, and Harry on the other side of the table.

“Tell me, Eric, is it true that you’re responsible for filing _all_ of the paperwork in the Ministry?”

Eric gave a huge groan. “Virtually, aside from the damn secretive Unspeakables who make everything harder for me. There was another witch, before, but she retired after Shacklebolt started passing all those new laws.”

“Why not hire someone else?”

Eric gave Draco a flat look. “As yes, who else wants to deal with forms in triplicate every day?”

Harry looked crestfallen. “I didn’t realise you didn’t like it either.”

“I was hired as an intern, and I _couldn’t_ leave the Ministry to collapse.”

Harry sat up with a look in his eye. “You _could_ , you know, just leave for a few days and _make_ the Ministry realise just how crucial your job is. And, maybe, figure out a way to reduce the amount of paperwork.”

Eric scowled. “And then have to deal with the clean-up afterwards? Offering to help me, Auror Potter?”

Draco felt a twinge of sympathy for Harry, and said to Eric, “Have you _tried_ hiring someone else? Or advertising internships? Have you considered non-human beings?”

“Tell me about you, Draco,” Eric said. “You have the Malfoy estates. And your charity. How successful have you been in finding administration workers?”

“More success in specific sub-areas than others,” Draco said. At the corner of his eye, Harry had already started to glaze over. “Order some food, first.”

Granger and Weasley soon came to sit at their table, while Draco talked with mostly Eric, and then Eric and Granger.

“Even though we mostly _do_ organise our own paperwork, each department should formally have their own Filings administrator,” Granger said, shaking her head in disapproval. “Furthermore, filing everything in the same place is a liability.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” Eric said with feeling.

Draco regarded Eric. As the meal had progressed, and as Eric vented more, Eric had started to relax and become more expressive.

“Unfortunately, until that happens, we will require your continued help,” Draco said.

Eric snorted, but he remained relatively relaxed. “I know what Potter’s up to, with all those ex-Slytherin and ex-Death-Eater related file requests.”

Granger perked up, eyes narrowing.

“I heard they had been misfiled,” Draco said idly.

Eric scowled. “Tampered, more like.”

“As for Azkaban, and the prisoners and ex-prisoners—are their files tampered with as well?”

Eric groaned. “Please don’t talk to me about Azkaban. Measly lines from them, hardly anything filled out.”

Draco and Granger exchanged a look.

“What are the repercussions for improperly filled out forms?” Draco asked idly.

“If I could, I’d hunt them down until they’re done properly,” Eric said darkly.

“Then allow me to offer whatever resources you need in order to do so,” Draco said seriously.

Eric looked at him. Draco maintained his expression.

“Give that in writing,” Eric finally said.

“Nothing less,” Draco said, nodding.

There was a lull as they ate, and Draco listened in to what Harry and Weasley were talking about. Childrens’ toys and Wheezes, apparently.

Once they’d finished, Draco walked with Eric to the exit.

“A fine place you made here,” Eric said with a nod.

“You’re welcome to return,” Draco said.

Soon after Eric disapparated away, the Golden Trio came out to say their goodbyes. Except, only Granger and Weasley apparated away.

Draco turned to Harry in anticipation.

:::

:::

:::

Harry turned to Draco with a giddy smile. “Shall we?” He held his hand out.

Draco nodded, and Harry reached out and grasped Draco’s hand and apparated them to Grimmauld Place, landing them in Harry’s drawing room.

Harry hung back a little as Draco looked around the room. Draco turned around, and glanced up, smirking.

“Do you realise that the little bird has been in your hair this entire time?” he said.

Harry grinned. “Yeah, of course. I noticed you looking at it.”

Draco scowled. “I was not. And who _wouldn’t_ look at it?”

Harry shook his head fondly. “Want to give me a long hug, now?”

Draco leaned away.

“Draco, sit down,” Harry said. “Maybe we should continue from where we left off.” Harry made sure that Draco had sat down first, before he dropped some cushions at Draco’s feet. “Legs apart,” he said, and sat down between Draco’s legs, leaning with his back against the lounge and his legs stretched out across the cushions.

Harry tilted his head back. “Can you take out the crane?” He shivered when Draco’s fingers lifted the crane and passed it down to Harry. Harry smiled fondly at it. It flew around Harry’s hands and finally settled in his palm.

“Now, attempt to untangle my hair,” Harry said.

“That’s impossible,” Draco said.

Harry snorted. “Giving up already?”

Draco gave a low growl, and his fingers descended back into Harry’s hair, combing through and fiddling.

Harry closed his eyes and relaxed. He gave it a few minutes for Draco to lower his guard.

“I noticed...” Harry started quietly. “...That you don’t like others touching you very much.”

Draco’s fingers tightened. “What of it?”

“The Weasleys are the opposite.”

“Yes, well, we cannot all be like them.” Draco’s voice was strained.

Harry sat up a little, pressing his head into Draco’s hands. “I wanted to say that _you_ can touch me whenever you want. That’s easier, right?”

Draco’s fingers started moving again in an absent massage. “It’s sudden.”

Harry hummed. “You can’t plan everything. You can’t _manage_ everything.”

“I don’t. The elves decide the menu on their own initiative.”

“Good job, Draco,” Harry said.

Draco tugged at Harry’s hair.

Harry sighed happily. “Hmm, do that again.”

Draco rubbed Harry’s head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“We’re doing perfectly innocent things right now,” Harry protested.

Draco was silent for a long minute, but his fingers kept moving. “Your hair tangles itself.”

“Exactly,” Harry said. “There’s nothing I can do about it. But you kept going on about it during school.”

“My hair is flat,” Draco said. “Perfect and straight. And yours was everything mine wasn’t. Even Dean Thomas’ hair wasn’t as bad as yours.”

Harry scoffed. “Or maybe it was because you always paid attention to _me_.”

Draco’s fingers scratched against the skin behind Harry’s ears. “Are you going to sit here and talk for the rest of the night with my fingers in your hair?”

Harry twisted around and stood up. And groaned. “My legs,” he moaned. “Let’s go to bed. I have new spare toothbrushes and various pyjamas if you want.”

Draco drew his wand. “No need.”

They took turns, one changing in the bedroom and the other using the bathroom. Harry chuckled when he returned to see Draco shooting all the manner of spells at the bed.

“It’s clean!” Harry protested. “Come on, I think we both need a good night sleep.”

Draco gave him a flat look and slipped into the opposite side of the bed, and lay down such that they were on their sides, facing each other.

“I would typically do more work after dinner,” Draco said.

Harry grinned wryly. “So would I. We’d probably encourage the best _and_ worst in each other.” Harry’s heart leapt a little when he realised the truth in his own words.

Draco scoffed. “Blaise’d hang, draw, and quarter me.”

“He wouldn’t!” Harry said with a grin. He cast a quiet _nox_ and the room descended into darkness. Harry took off his glasses and dropped them on the bedside table on his side. Then, he shuffled a little closer to Draco and closed his eyes.

The sound of Draco breathing was barely there, but Harry could tell that the bed dipped a little differently due to Draco’s presence.

“Sometimes, I have nightmares,” Harry said quietly. “So don’t mind me during the night.”

There was a rustle and rumbling of the bed, and Harry pressed his lips together when Draco’s hands covered his own under the duvet.

“You said you liked hand-holding,” Draco whispered.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed back. “I’m going to sleep now.”

“Very well.”

Harry laughed a little under his breath at Draco’s proper tone.

Harry breathed, and he listened to the sound of Draco breathing, and he fell asleep.

:::

Harry had woken first the next day, and as promised, had made Draco breakfast. They had parted ways a little earlier—Draco needed to return to the Manor to retrieve a new set of robes for the day.

It meant that Harry arrived earlier than usual to the Auror department. But nonetheless, a memo from Robards was already there.

Harry groaned when he read that it was for an urgent meeting. While he waited for Ron to arrive, he flipped through the papers in the duplicated case file. The moment Ron arrived, Harry passed the memo to Ron and herded him towards the Minister’s Office.

Hermione was speaking with Robert at the reception. She looked at them with surprise.

“Harry. Ron, you’re back so soon.”

Harry gave her an apologetic smile. “We have a meeting with Robards and Kingsley.”

Hermione frowned. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Ron said.

When they entered Kingsley’s office, Robards was already there—along with Aurors Haart and Shafiq. The door closed behind them.

Robards stood up and motioned them to sit down.

“I think you both know what’s going on here,” he said.

Harry and Ron nodded. Harry glanced at Haart and Shafiq—they both appeared fairly calm.

Kingsley sighed. “It’s a mess you’ve uncovered.”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “Sorry, but if they didn’t do that in the first place, we wouldn’t be here.”

Kingsley snorted. “Indeed. Aurors Haart and Shafiq, please give us a full listing of the charges. Then Robards, your plan of action.”

Harry glanced at Ron. Ron nodded imperceptibly, and they both listened as the others talked.

:::

After the meeting, all the Aurors that had been suspended were officially charged, and by lunch time, _everyone_ in the Ministry seemed to know the who and the why.

And it was obvious what they thought about it, when Harry and Ron made their way towards the Ministry lobby.

“Fucking hell, Potter,” some muttered. “Why didn’t you keep quiet? Now Robards’ gonna be in terrible mood.”

“Everyone knows that the Weasleys are werewolf lovers,” others muttered.

“Merlin, I hope I never have to work with them. Bunch of snitches.”

Ron scoffed and shrugged his shoulders. “I hope we never have to work with them,” he muttered back loudly to Harry. “Because Robards’ll catch whatever laws they’re breaking before they could come even close to working with us.”

Harry took on a faux-perplexed look. “I don’t understand our fellow Aurors. Aren’t we supposed to do what’s _right_? Aren’t we supposed to help and aid and protect all citizens equally?”

“Maybe _they_ need to go back to Auror training,” Ron said, grinning.

They boarded the lift, and the others in the lift with them went silent.

Upon arriving at the Ministry lobby, a newspaper smacked Harry in the face.

> _DAILY PROPHET – WEDNESDAY XX_

> _MALFOY’S MACHINATIONS ENTRAP POTTER IN SORDID GAY AFFAIR TO TAKE DOWN BRITISH SOCIETY_

> In breaking news, the first heads have rolled since the destruction of the Werewolf Register—a necessary security precaution introduced by the late Newton “Newt” Scamander. Five Aurors have been suspended and charged for protective action against werewolves.

> Last night, Auror Harry Potter was seen in intimate company with Death Eater Malfoy, jr. at his monstrous Knockturn construction. A small white unidentified dark artefact was situated in Potter’s hair, which according to anonymous source casts a compliance spell upon its wearer. Auror Potter was seen leaving with Malfoy at the end of the night—

Harry crushed and vanished it. He glanced to Ron, and realised that Ron had his own copy. Ron’s lips twisted into a grimace.

“Dark _artefact_?” Ron muttered.

Harry dragged Ron to the exit. “We’re eating in muggle London.”

“Alright,” Ron said easily.

When they returned to the Ministry, Harry felt even _more_ eyes on them. They walked swiftly back to their office.

Bill and Auror Brown were waiting outside their door and neither were talking to each other.

Ron took a step forward. “How can we help you?”

“I’d like to have a quick chat with Auror Potter,” Brown said. “ _Privately_.”

“Alright,” Ron said, “Harry, you and Brown can have that quick chat in the office. Me and Bill can chat out here.”

Harry grimaced and headed inside, Auror Brown following him in.

Brown closed the door and stood in front of it.

“You were sniffing after Cricke all this time,” Brown said, eyes narrowed. “Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut?”

“I wasn’t _after_ Cricke,” Harry retorted. “I was after whoever framed Smith, and whoever were confiscating Wolfsbane.”

Brown’s upper lip curled. “Celia Robards _deserved_ it. She _loves_ werewolves, I bet she _loves_ being a werewolf.”

“But did Cricke get either of their consent?”

“Merlin, you’re one of those muggle feminists, aren’t you?” Brown crossed his arms, chest pushed out. “Since you started working, you’ve been pushing your weight around. You’d do well to realise that we do things certain ways here in the Auror department.”

“I read the Auror code of conduct. Maybe you should refresh your memory,” Harry said sharply.

“Cricke is a hundred times the Auror you are,” Brown scowled. “Watch your back, Potter. You’re making powerful enemies.”

Harry waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve been collecting enemies since I was a year old—Voldemort was the first, if you’ve forgotten in your old age. Is there anything else?”

Brown uncrossed his arms. “Not at all. You’re an adult, not a child. You cannot use your age as an excuse anymore.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He wandlessly opened the door. “Have a good day, Auror Brown.”

“Good day, Auror Potter,” Brown said in the same faux-polite tone.

A moment after Brown left, Ron and Bill came in and closed the door behind them.

“What was that about?” Ron asked.

Harry sighed. “Brown heavily implied that he’s my enemy. And that I should keep my mouth shut.”

Bill glanced at the door. “He threatened you.”

“We know he’s involved in anti-Death Eater and anti-Slytherin actions,” Ron explained. “And given that Cricke was uncovered, Brown no doubt fears that he’d be next.”

Bill nodded. “Best of luck for that. I have an update on the rest of Malfoy’s missing items, and the large bulk of ex-Death Eater items. They were handled by Curse Breaker Sarob, in the presence of Secretary of Commerce Ergodan. And it appears that Secretary of the Treasury Kuffet played a hand in illegally selling off the items—to clients outside of Britain.”

Harry exhaled and nodded. “So, most of it was organised crime.”

Ron gave a low whistle. “This goes right to the Minister’s Office,” he said with a shake of his head.

Harry groaned. “Merlin, Kingsley’s gonna kill us when we bring this up. He’s under enough work as it is.”

“Another problem is,” Ron said, “is that Kuffet’s definitely involved in anti-D.E. activity. He was the one who requested Malfoy pay more War Reparations.”

“I have the evidence on my side. And Sarob...he’d go through the Goblins’ disciplinary system.” Bill took out a small object and enlarged it.

Ron, who was closest, took the file. “Thanks, Bill. Can you wait before alerting the goblins about Sarob? The missing items aren’t urgent, and if we could build a stronger case, we’d be able to pin them down.”

Bill nodded. “Yes.”

Ron put the case down, and the three of them exchanged a few minutes of idle chatter and catchup. Once Bill left, Ron passed Harry the file.

“I thought we’d be able to take it easy, with Haart and Shafiq taking the other case,” Ron sighed.

“They could probably help on this,” Harry suggested.

Ron purposefully sat down at his desk, stretched his fingers, and took out some fresh parchment and a quill. “Let’s do this. Let’s take down the Ministry.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Just _part_ of it.”


	12. Chapter 12

On the morning after Draco stayed over with Harry, Draco woke first. There was more background noise—the low rumble of Muggle London—and there was foreground noise—the low breaths of Harry Potter. The smell of the bed-linen was also unfamiliar, despite the cleaning spells Draco had shot at it the night before. But Draco could _imagine_ getting familiar to it.

Draco was struck at how much things had changed since a few months ago. And he remembered what he knew about relationships—which was nothing. The fake relationship he had with Pansy during school involved them doing things one or the other thought that straight people did.

Draco propped himself up to look at Harry. He was still on his side of the bed—and Harry was still sprawled on the other side.

Presently, Harry’s eyes opened.

“You didn’t have a nightmare last night,” Draco murmured.

Harry stretched his arms and yawned. “Must be you.” He rolled over to face Draco and squinted. “Hungry yet? I promised you breakfast.”

“Not yet.” Draco took his wand from his bedside table and swept open the curtains.

Harry groaned.

“You had also mentioned _photos_ ,” Draco said pointedly.

Harry raised a slow hand and thin sheets photos flew into the room and landed all over the bed.

Draco rolled his eyes and swept all the photos together. He found himself melting at the pictures of Teddy...and frowning at the pictures of himself.

He didn’t realise his face could look like that. It was foreign.

Harry nudged Draco on the shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

 _My face is like an open book_ , he thought to himself. Out loud, he said, “You’ve gotten my bad side.”

Harry laughed. “Oh come on. You look great in these. Keep them, I have many more copies.” Harry stretched out and sat up. “I’m going to freshen up and start on breakfast. Any requests?”

“Surprise me,” Draco said.

Harry grinned. “Famous last words.” He gathered some clothing and wandered off to the bathroom, saying as left, “Go, poke around. I can see it in your eyes.”

Draco scoffed.

A few moments later, Draco got out of bed and re-made with a spell. Then, with an undeniable curiosity, Draco took a look around the room. There was nothing under the bed, and the bedside drawers were mostly empty aside from a handful of muggle writing implements and muggle self-help books.

There were Quidditch posters up on the walls. And the wardrobe contained clothes that were exactly as Draco expected.

Harry knocked on the door and poked his head in. “Going down to the kitchen now.”

Draco closed the wardrobe doors calmly. “I shall replace some of your clothes.”

Harry gave a sheepish smile. “Don’t throw anything away.”

Draco acknowledged his statement and followed him down to the kitchen. Draco watched as Harry cooked, as he whistled around the kitchen.

“You’ve done this before,” Draco realised.

Harry hummed. “Yeah? I like cooking. And it takes practice.” He set a plate in front of Draco and in front of himself—savoury toast and sweet toast.

“Anything to drink?”

“Tea,” Draco demured. He let Harry make his tea while he started eating.

Harry looked at him expectantly. “Good? I baked the bread a few days ago.”

“Not this morning?” Draco shook his head. “The shame, Potter.”

“Hey!” Harry said indignantly. “I don’t see you stopping, though.”

“Who am I to turn down good food?” Draco said primly.

Harry snorted and smiled fondly.

:::

Sometime in the late morning, Pansy walked into Draco’s office with the _Daily Prophet_ in her hand.

“Read this,” she ordered.

Draco skimmed it.

_MALFOY’S MACHINATIONS ENTRAP POTTER IN SORDID_ _GAY_ _AFFAIR TO TAKE DOWN_ _BRITISH_ _SOCIETY_

Draco set it down. “It was a paper crane. A child’s construction,” he said mildly. “There was nothing sordid about it.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow and settled into a chair. “And _after_?”

“We talked, mostly. And we had an early night and an early morning.”

Pansy had a speculative look on her face. “You realise that I’m gay, correct?”

“Of course.”

“Perhaps you should do a little reading on it,” she said cryptically. “You should invite Potter onto the charity board.”

“I already have.”

“Good. I’ve already been speaking with Granger about setting up a pro bono legal firm. But it would mean that I will work less with you.”

Draco smiled wryly. “Your abilities were underutilised in the charity itself.”

Pansy shrugged. “I had to help you,” she said, giving Draco a meaningful look. “I’ll see you at dinner.” Pansy gave him a pat on the head.

Draco settled into a fond look as Pansy strode out. He cast a quick _tempus_ : it was soon time for him to meet with Lisa, who had stepped up to take charge of all the werewolf-specific functions of the charity and more besides.

When Draco walked down Knockturn Alley, on his way to Muggle London to meet with Lisa, he could see how Knockturn had changed since a few months ago. People had returned, buildings being fixed, and shops re-opening.

When he entered Diagon Alley, while a number of people had the _Prophet_ in their hands, most of them did not avoid him as though he was contagious. Diagon looked even livelier: he could spot some of the charity’s beneficiaries working at some of the shops; and he knew that if he went down to Carkitt Market, then he would see the small street food set-up run by the Manor’s house elves.

As he transfigured his robes into a long coat before entering Muggle London, Draco wished that his father would be proud of him.

:::

Before dinner, Draco received a short owl from Harry: _Can’t make it, having dinner with_ _Ron and Hermione_.

:::

The dining hall had new faces and old faces, and the number of diners had been growing steadily. Already, Draco had been speaking with some of the elves about opening a proper second location that would serve as typical, paid, restaurant during the day and free place to eat during the night.

Draco took his usual seat at his usual table, and soon after he sat down, Blaise came in.

“How has your day been?”

“Well,” Draco said.

Blaise gave a satisfied smile. “Good. Look,” he said, nodding his head towards the door.

Draco glanced to the entrance of the dining hall and immediately stood up. “Mother,” he said. “You’re here.”

Narcissa, dressed in austere robes, glided towards him.

Draco sucked in a breath when he saw those behind his mother.

“Good evening, Greg,” he breathed. “And Mills. And Mrs. Goyle, welcome!” He busied himself seating them all at his table.

His mother looked around slowly. “Tasteful,” she said. She gave Draco a slight nod. “You’ve done well.”

Draco blinked, warmth in his chest. “Thank you.” He glanced at Mrs. Goyle, who sat on one side of Greg—Millicent sat on the other.

Narcissa gave a little smile. “She came back for her son.”

Mrs. Goyle nodded. “I came as soon as I heard,” she said quietly. “Look at my son. He’s so big and tall now,” she said, smiling fondly.

Greg ducked his head, flushing. “Ma, do you have to say that every time?”

Draco looked around the table. “I’m grateful that you’re all here.”

Millicent shrugged. “I wanted to check it out, anyway.”

Draco snorted under his breath and looked at Greg.

Greg nodded. “It’s a cool place.”

Draco gave a relaxed smile, and told them about how the food ordering worked; after they ordered, he continued speaking about how the place came to be, and about some of the future plans to open at new locations.

“You’ve done a lot,” Greg said.

Millicent nudged Greg. “No one is expecting you to follow in his footsteps. Draco’s just an overachiever and a swot, aren’t you?”

Draco gave Millicent a flat look; she just grinned in response.

“You do not realise how far your reach is, my son,” Narcissa said softly.

“Even as far as Harry Potter,” Millicent said, winking.

“He’s a very good friend,” Draco said firmly, denying nothing.

“You realise that I’m gay, right?” Millicent said.

Draco rubbed his eyes. “Yes, and Pansy said the exact same thing earlier today. For Merlin’s sake, I can see your little muggle _rainbow_ flags.”

Beside him, Blaise was laughing. “We’re just making sure, you just seemed so oblivious.”

Draco glanced at his mother, and even she was smiling.

“Am I on a table of Gryffindors?” Draco muttered.

“Now, Draco,” Narcissa said, “I was thinking of having a Winter ball at the Manor. It has been a while since we hosted.”

Draco frowned. “For Yule? That’s still a few months away.”

“I shall invite all—we will deserve a celebration during the winter.”

“If you’re sure, Mother.”

Blaise bumped into Draco’s shoulder. “Yes, she’s sure,” Blaise said.

“I shall host it, as Lady of the Manor,” Narcissa said, nodded. “We’ll open the ball room and expand the gardens—they’ll look stunning in snow.”

“Roasts and yorkshires and Christmas pudding,” Greg said slowly. “You’ll have those, won’t you?”

Narcissa nodded. “And more!”

Draco looked around the table and listened and smiled.

:::

:::

:::

The Auror Department’s climate became even chillier for Harry.

Harry could see lines being drawn between the other Aurors. Those who approved of Harry, those who didn’t, and those who wanted nothing to do with either side.

With the suspension of yet another couple of Aurors—not by Harry’s nor Ron’s hand—suspicion was ripe and the workload became heavier.

Mrs. Goyle had been spotted down at Draco’s place, and Harry had rushed to Robards to make sure that no Aurors would go off vigilanting to try and attack her.

“Fine,” Robards said shortly, and then-and-there wrote a short departmental memo. “Now sit down, Potter. You’re early, as it were.”

Harry frowned. “What for?” He turned at the sound of the door opening, and in came Ron, Haart, Shafiq, Eric, Hermione, and two other people Harry faintly recognised.

Robards introduced them all to each other.

“Astoria Greengrass, from Level 3 Accidents,” Roabrds was saying.

Greengrass nodded, smiling wryly. “ _Accidents_ ,” she said drily.

“And Solicitor Adren, from International Law,” Robards ended. He paused for a moment, allowing them to all say quiet hellos.

“We are here today because of what each of you have found evidence of: too many lone actors and vigilantes with a predilection to duel with those with Slytherin and Death-Eater relationships than to be random,” Robards said. “It has extended beyond Britain’s borders and has started to attract international attention.”

Harry snorted under his breath at Robards’ phrasing, and he wasn’t the only one to do so.

“Something funny about this, Potter?” Robards said sharply.

Harry gave him a deadpanned look. “Not at all, sir. This is extremely serious. Division was how the wizarding wars started in the first place,” he couldn’t help but add. A quick glance to his side told him that Ron was rolling his eyes at Harry as expected.

Robards smiled sharply. “In that case, you’ve volunteered to give a workshop about unity to the other Aurors, Potter. My thanks.”

Ron chortled.

“And Weasley, as his partner, has also volunteered automatically.”

Ron became disgruntled.

They all became more serious after that, and Harry did his best to ignore Robards’ careful—or perhaps _guilty-by-purposeful-ignorance—_ wording to get to the core of what Robards wanted from them.

Together, they were to properly investigate every allegation and see them through right to the end.

:::

“What’s even the _point_ of catching dark wizards anymore?” said a voice.

Harry stopped and backtracked. The voice was coming from the Auror tea room.

“Malfoy’s basically accepting them with open arms the moment they leave the Ministry cells and even _Azkaban_. Did you hear what he did with the Goyle house? He fixed it all up! Gave them an elf!” the voice continued.

“Not to mention the stupid ‘Equality Taskforce’ Robards set up,” another voice said. “If we catch a Slytherin dark wizard, _we’ll_ be the ones under investigation! What else is left for us to do?”

“Fetch Kneazles from trees,” said a third person.

There was a smattering of laughter.

“They’re a bunch of muggle feminists,” said a fourth— _Brown_ , Harry realised with a start.

“Word is, Malfoy wants to abolish Azkaban altogether,” said one of the earlier voices.

At that statement, where was a round of horrified and confused outburst.

“He’ll never get anywhere!”

“Did you see the papers though? Malfoy’s gotten Potter, and Potter has Shacklebolt eating out of his hands.”

“Merlin, I bet Malfoy wants his father out!”

“And all the other death eaters!”

“Keep your voices down,” Brown hissed, and the sound suddenly cut as someone cast a privacy charm.

Harry immediately headed back to his office to grab his invisibility cloak. By the time he got back to the Auror tea room though, it was deserted.

Determined, Harry sent off an owl to Draco to say that he couldn’t make dinner again, and went off to track down Brown.


	13. Chapter 13

Draco sighed when received Harry’s owl, _Urgent, can’t make it to dinner – H._ , and decided to save a couple of items for him.

It was the full moon again, and a couple of lycans had thought it amusing to organise a miniature mid-autumn moon festival at the Manor. There was food and lanterns and brightness all round.

After the festivities died down and the moon rose, Draco returned to his study and flooed to his Knockturn office. The dining room was still lit, signalling that there were still diners within, and that felt like enough justification for Draco to continue reading through a handful of studies on efficacy of different prisons and post-prison programs.

His eyes narrowed when the light seemed to flicker across the page, and he realised he could sense heat. Draco immediately drew his new wand and stepped out.

The dining hall was now empty and dark, but there was still a soft glow—and when Draco turned to the front entrance, he realised—the glow of fire.

 _Why aren’t the charms activating_? he cursed inwardly. Draco loped to the front, throwing the doors open with his wand and cast a powerful _augmenti_. The flames abated for a moment—and then flared up again, higher, and in places where there had been no flames before.

Draco raised his wand arm, closed his eyes, and shouted, “ _Lumos!_ ”

Bright light flooded the entire street, red against Draco’s eyelids, and when he quickly opened his eyes again, he caught a dozen or more black-robed people.

One of them recovered quickly and shot a sharp red spell at Draco. Draco twisted, barely dodging, the cutting spell catching the side of his robes. The lumos detached from his wand, and he cast another _augmenti_ , cast a _protego_ , cast another _augmenti_ —

Draco felt panic.

 _Protego_. _Augmenti_. _PROTEGO MAXIMA_ _—_ Draco twisted, trying to dodge. He winced when he got hit, again and again. The flames were climbing higher.

He had to take out the fire. But he also to defend against _them_.

Some of them were suddenly hitting the building with impact spells. The glass shattered. All the beautiful glass that the house-elves had put in.

Then, overriding the panic was anger.

“How _dare_ you?” Draco growled. His skin itched, he wanted to—wanted to give them as taste of their own poison, Azkaban be damned—

“Shit, Draco!”

“I did _not_ expect this.”

Pansy and Blaise were emerging from the building. Draco startled, and gasped when something cut into his arm.

“What— _who_?” Pansy turned her attention from Draco to the arsonists. “Oh, hello, I hope you’ll look forward to seeing me in court,” she said sharply, drawing her wand.

Blaise, meanwhile, was saying, “Miffy, Mozza, Glicky, Penny, we need your help.” Yet, over a dozen elves appeared, immediately working on putting out the flames.

When Draco turned back outwards, there were even more people on the streets. More _lumos’s_ had been cast, doors were open, and shopkeepers and residents of Knockturn alike were out.

Draco watched with frozen disbelief as they, along with Pansy, cast anti-apparition wards and tied up all the assailants. He turned back to the building to see its residents spilling out and aiding the house-elves in fixing up the damage.

“Call the Aurors,” came Pansy’s order.

Draco frowned and took a step to where the assailants had been rounded off. Blaise stopped him.

“Keep still for a moment, will you?” Blaise muttered. He cast a strong _episkey_ all over Draco. “That should do for now,” he muttered to himself. He cradled Draco’s face for a moment. “Still looking pretty,” he smirked.

“Your robes are destroyed,” Draco said, still feeling numb. He cast another _episkey_ over himself.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry about it.” He walked with Draco over to where Pansy was.

Pansy was casting anti-disguise charms with a sharp steadiness. One by one, the headache-fuzziness over their faces disappeared, and some of their shapes changed as their polyjuice ran out.

Draco recognised some of them—some of them had attacked him before. But there were many more that he did not recognise.

“ _Draco!_ ”

Draco’s heart jumped at the sound and sight of Harry, dashing down the street in red Auror robes. Weasley was not far behind him, as well as Head Auror Robards and a two other Aurors.

Harry came to stop in front of the tied up assailants and his eyes narrowed. “ _Brown_ , what are you doing here?”

Robards came over with a heavy look on his face and a shake in his head. “Alright, let’s get them all back to the Ministry cells, Potter, Weasley.” He turned to Draco. “Were you here first?”

Blaise answered, “Yes, and then Pansy and I arrived, followed by everyone else.”

Robards look around, and sighed. “Alright, we’ll need to have you three in for a proper questioning. Shafiq, take these three. Haart, you and I are going to question everyone else here.”

“Draco, I’ll see you later?” Harry quickly said, an apologetic look on his face.

Draco nodded, and watched as he and Weasley started take the assailants away.

Auror Shafiq escorted Draco, Blaise and Pansy to the Ministry for their own questioning. Shafiq was completely professional and efficient in her questioning. It was extremely late by the time the three of them left the Ministry, and Draco knew that the Aurors—including Harry—would be up for a while yet.

“Amateurs,” Pansy said, shaking her head. “How stupid are they to reveal themselves in an all-out attack?”

“They...were shouting about me abolishing Azkaban,” Draco said, thinking about everything they had said.

Pansy frowned. “How did they hear about that?” She shrugged. “Their loss. The irony is that our prison reform work would help them too.”

“And maybe they’ll appreciate it on that side,” Draco said.

“Don’t worry too much,” Blaise said. “Come on, let’s check Knockturn.” Blaise side-alonged both Draco and Pansy.

Knockturn Alley was still brightly lit. Draco ran his fingertips over the building facade: it was smooth and unbroken once again.

When they went inside the Knockturn building, they found that its dining hall open again for a midnight meal and snacks.

Some of the shopkeepers and residents came up to Draco to express their condolences; he gave back his gratitude for their aid. Even Mr Wright was there, for all his dislike of Draco a few months ago.

Blaise patted Draco on the back. “It’s all good here. Now, let’s find you a proper healer.”

Draco gave one last, slow look around the dining hall, and exhaled. He turned to Blaise. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“Of course,” Blaise said, inclining his head. He held out his hand and took Draco to a healer.

:::

> _QUIBBLER – FRIDAY XX_

> _ATTACK ON KNOCKTURN ALLEY UNITES RESIDENTS_

> At approximately 11pm last night, a group of fifteen witches and wizards attacked The Charity/Collective Building on Knockturn Alley. They set fire to the building and attacked the charity founder, Draco Malfoy, when he came out to defend the building. Mr. Malfoy was hurt in the attack.

> Soon after, elves and humans emerged to aid Mr. Malfoy in a show of commendable camaraderie and unity.

> “There was bright lights and shouting,” says Knockturn shopkeeper, Alistair Wright. “Of course, I had to help. Mr. Malfoy has done so much work to revitalise Knockturn Alley.”

> One of the residents of The Collective Building tells us that, “They were shooting so many spells against him—fifteen against one, how is that fair? I came out to help. The Building is my home.”

> A group of house-elves and humans alike undid the damage done by the attackers whilst another group apprehended the attackers.

> After the Aurors arrived, Knockturn residents retreated to the dining hall of The Collective Building for hot chocolate, marshmallows, and cheesy burritos.

:::

> _DAILY PROPHET – FRIDAY XX_

> _MINISTRY SETS FIRE TO KNOCKTURN ALLEY_

> Anonymous sources have identified three Aurors amongst the fifteen who set fire to Knockturn Alley late Thursday night. The order to torch the Alley was allegedly given from the Minister’s Office.

> In a stroke of luck, property owner and ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy was in the alley at the time of the attack. By attracting attention, he was able to wake up the residents of Knockturn alley to stop the fire and apprehend the attackers.

> The Ministry declined to comment on the attempted murder of the residents of Knockturn Alley.

> We here at the Prophet wonder—which street is next?

:::

> _DAILY PROPHET – SATURDAY XX_

> _MINISTRY SECRETARIES FOUND PAWNING OFF STOLEN ITEMS_

> Secret Auror case files have been found detailing the trial of thefts, embezzlement, and general elicit criminal activity that wounds its way through all levels of the Ministry.

> Under the guise of house inspections, Aurors and their consultants steal items, which later resurface with modified names and appearances, to be sold to unsuspecting civilian buyers such as ourselves.

> Curse Breaker William Weasley gives the following tips for identifying stolen items: “They tend to be damaged, and appear to be constructed from materials of multiple ages. If you had trouble with curses upon receiving the item, chances are that it had been improperly taken and the item’s defensive mechanism had been activated.”

> Stolen items must be returned to their original owners, regardless of what one might have paid. “However, you have recourse to sue the seller,” CB. Weasley tells the Prophet.

> The current Secretary of Economy Kuffet, and previous Secretary of Economy Morrisons have been linked to the spate of thefts and are now currently facing a host of lawsuits from disgruntled used-to-be owners.

> Auror Harry Potter has declined to comment on his part in uncovering the plots.

> See special insert for all the details!

:::

> _WITCH WEEKLY – SATURDAY XX_

> _ROMANCE BETWEEN HARRY POTTER AND DRACO MALFOY?_

> Auror Harry Potter was seen and heard calling out, dramatically, “Draco!” as he arrived on scene of a recent attack on Knockturn alley. Witnesses say they saw the two exchanged meaningful loving looks before Head Auror Robards maliciously split them apart...

:::

> _WITCH WEEKLY – SATURDAY XX_

> _(page 2)_

> _MINISTRY EMBROILED IN SCANDAL – WHAT DOES IT MEAN FOR YOU?_

> Friend or foe? We do not know which Ministry officials have been to your home, nor whether they have an eye on destroying your home. In these uncertain times, W.W. recommends that the discerning witch keep her wits about her and her wand in hand...

:::

> _QUIBBLER – SATURDAY XX_

> _PRO BONO LEGAL FIRM TO OFFER FREE SERVICES TO ALL_

> Solicitor Pansy Parkinson in conjunction with Secretary of Welfare Granger have opened up a legal firm promising legal services and legal representation free of charge...

:::

Over the last few days, there was a palatable energy in the air. There was a flood of support from condolences from the wider community and increased interest in the charity. Draco knew that Pansy was being flooded with legal requests as well as fielding applications from other lawyers and legal workers to work part time at her firm.

There were people coming to _Draco_ with the problems they lived and the solutions they would like to see. Lisa and her friend Kelly stepped up once again to help. And Mateo—Mateo who didn’t think he could do it despite doing it—came in to see Draco about a proper position working in the charity as a part-time liaison between the charity and the community.

There was also an increased in owls from the Ministry, and several Aurors were seen occasionally hanging about. There were letters threatening silence, letters for more War Reparations, and after Saturday _Daily Prophet_ , a fair number of papers requesting Draco not sue them and to settle any damages and compensation out of court.

Draco was thinking of settling on a certain compensation: improved conditions in Azkaban—he wasn’t above twisting the Ministry’s arm to get something good done.

All in all, Draco’s plans and goals were near-fulfilling themselves. He could feel the reach of his friends, the charity, all the initiatives, spreading further and further.

It was more than Draco had ever planned for at the beginning. But there was one other thing—or person—that Draco needed.

:::

:::

:::

Harry rubbed the back of his head sheepishly at Kingsley’s tired but fond head shake.

The Ministry was in an uproar over the unleashed scandals. _Daily Prophet_ reporters had somehow gotten a hold of the secret, high-security, protective-charmed case files and published them all.

“It was going to happen eventually,” Ron said pragmatically. “This is just a kick in our butts to get a move on.”

“It’s going to be hard work to get the public to trust us once again,” Kingsley said with a sigh. “It’s like just after the War again.”

“I think they still trust me,” Harry said. “We’ll do what’s right.”

“Of course,” Kingsley said. “Here’s what we’ll do...”

There was a large group of Ministry workers crowded in Kingsley’s office for an emergency meeting on Saturday after the _Prophet_ ’s article exploded in the public’s consciousness, and Harry, along with them, listened to Kingsley’s plans of action. The large majority of the Ministry needed to continue functioning as per normal—life was still going on—but there was going to be a larger dedicated fraction to comprehensively review Ministry actions and to propose concrete actions that the Ministry could take that would make a difference to the public.

Afterwards, Kingsley, Robards, Harry, Ron and Hermione went to give a quick press conference to ensure the media (mostly the _Daily Prophet_ ), that they would consider each and every concern.

Harry found himself working late hours, to keep up with the media’s demands for action, and he was hardly alone in working overtime. And he just _couldn’t_ go to Knockturn Alley and have dinner with Draco. He felt it would be wrong for him to eat quickly and leave. With the things that had happened—their _sleepover—_ Harry wanted to give Draco his full attention, and while he couldn’t give it, he couldn’t see Draco. Harry had even rescheduled Draco’s monthly parole meeting for a much later date.

The week rushed by, and then Harry snapped to the present when he received Draco’s owl.

> _Dear Harry,_

> _You are right in certain things. Relationships cannot be planned with todos and timelines and achievable goals. Yet, neither are they trivialities to be ‘winged’._

> _What do you envision our tiny blossom of a romantic relationship to grow into? How temporary? How lasting? If you were a Seer, what future would you see?_

> _For I would not make a good partner. I work too much, I plan, I scheme, I distance._

> _And you. Always working, bright eyed, optimistic. Too intense, be it close or far away._

> _For all this, I find myself yearning. I can imagine sitting opposite each other, each engrossed in our own work. I can imagine taking you to the secluded of the Manor gardens to dine in private. I can imagine having you for afternoon tea in the solarium in company of others._

> _I can imagine my fingers in your hair. Your scent in my nose._

> _I have in my head, near uncountably many futures for us._

> _Simply, I miss you. You, with all your foolishness, your laughable words, your presence that lights up the atmosphere around you. Damn you, for you have become essential to me._

> _If you are willing, I say, owl me and we shall have dinner tonight, or tomorrow, or whenever you are willing to find time. Or perhaps, we could just lie in bed in each other’s company—I shan’t ask more until we speak again._

> _Draco._

Harry sucked in a sharp breath. He read the letter again. And then scrambled for some parchment to scribble a reply.

> _YES_

> _NOW_

> _WHERE?_

Harry had just hopped out of the shower when he received Draco’s reply.

> _Dear Harry,_

> _I am currently in my study at Malfoy Manor. Shall I come over to Grimmauld Place?_

> _Draco._

Harry told the owl, “No reply!” He dressed as quickly as he could and flooed right to Malfoy Manor.

A familiar house-elf—Penny, appeared. “Mister Potter!” she exclaimed. “Is Mister Potter here to see Master Draco?”

Harry nodded, and quickly followed Penny through the Manor to Draco’s study.

Draco was at the window, where his owl was perched. The slight frown on his face smoothed out.

“Master Draco, Mister Potter is being here!” Penny announced. “Is Master Draco be needing anything else?”

“No, that’s all,” Draco said.

Penny nodded and apparated away.

Harry stepped into the room proper and closed the door behind him.

“Hey,” Harry breathed. “I got your letter.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “And I received your reply,” he said drily.

Harry walked towards him. “What more did you want to ask me?”

“And what do _you_ want? What future do you see?”

“A better future,” Harry replied immediately.

Draco wondered past him and took a lounging seat in an armchair. “Does it involve avoiding me?”

Harry flushed. “I’ve been busy. I didn’t—I didn’t want to seem absent around you.” He wandered over to Draco, and when Draco didn’t do anything, Harry perched on the arm, one knee up on the seat.

“I _know_ you’re busy. But I would have liked to see your face,” Draco said. He glared at where Harry’s bum sat on the arm. “Sit down properly, I rather you not destroy my armchair.”

Harry grinned. “Great!” He slid down onto what was still free of the seat and let the rest of his legs rest over Draco’s. “I _do_ have an uncommonly beautiful face.”

Draco snorted. “You’ve been around Blaise and myself much too long,” he muttered. “What were you doing?”

“Work?”

“You could have bought it over here. We could have done work together.”

Harry leaned back and shifted his legs into a more comfortable position draped across Draco. “Your letter was very romantic. I was expecting we’ll do something romantic.”

Draco made a non-committal sound and waved a hand; two items floated over to them. “The night of the attack was a full moon. You missed your free items.”

Harry brightened. One was a lantern, which he was sure he could find a place to hang, and the second was a small, flower shaped food.

“A moon cake,” Draco said.

“Let’s have it now,” Harry decided. He took a bite of it, and found it was nearly as sweet as treacle tart.

Draco was rubbing his eyes. “They’re not meant to be eaten just like that!” he said, exasperated.

Harry leaned forward. “Open your mouth, Malfoy.” Draco opened his mouth, probably in protest, and Harry pushed a bit of the cake in. Draco glared at him, but bit a part off, his lips just barely caressing Harry’s fingers.

Harry chucked the rest of the tiny cake into his mouth.

Draco was back to looking exasperated. “Have you no sense of appreciation?”

“I do,” Harry said, leaning forward. “Of your mouth. If I may?”

After a beat, Draco nodded, a slight smirk hovered over his lips. “I have imagined our first kiss. Let’s see you live up to it.”

Harry licked his lips. He shifted himself until he straddled Draco.

“What’s taking you so long?”

“Shush, you,” Harry murmured, cradling Draco’s head, his firm jaw, his fingers through the loose strands of Draco’s hair. Harry smiled. Draco’s face was so familiar, yet up this close, it wasn’t, with the exception of Draco’s eyes. Harry ran a thumb over Draco’s lips, and he _finally_ leaned in and kissed Draco.

Harry’s lips were alight, his mind buzzing, his body hot where Draco’s hands had come to up rest. Draco’s lips were firm and warm. Harry never wanted it to stop.

:::::::::

It was a few weeks later, on cold day in Muggle London on date, that Harry finally convinced Draco to hold his hand. With Saturday crowds, Harry put forth the very reasonable fear that Draco would get lost amongst all the muggles otherwise.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “ _Really_ , Potter?” he said.

Harry gave him a fond look. “Yes, really. I’m ready. Are you?”

Draco ran a look down Harry’s body.

“Hey, you put these clothes in my wardrobe!”

Draco smirked, his face light, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He stuck out his hand, and without hesitation, Harry grabbed it.

:::

> _DAILY PROPHET – SUNDAY XX_

> _POTTER/MALFOY AFFAIR CONFIRMED_

> Auror Harry Potter and Mr. Draco Malfoy were seen holding hands whilst out in Muggle London. They were first spotted at in the morning at Covent Garden, and appeared to have a romantic lunch at a local Italian muggle restaurant.

> When this reporter approached them, the two wizards ran away, laughing amongst themselves!

> Late last night, the Daily Prophet received the following missive for the pair:

> To whom this may concern,

> We would like to confirm that we, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, were on a date in Muggle London until one of your reporters interrupted our day.

> May the truth be with you,

> Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter.

:::

> _WARLOCK – MONDAY XX_

> _WIZARD/WIZARD STYLE FT. DRACO MALFOY AND HARRY POTTER: COORDINATION THREE WAYS_

> In the growing trend among young people to dress in matching outfits, Draco Malfoy has been seen in company with Harry Potter, who is apparently sporting a new wardrobe. The editors at Warlock are gushing over their style—B. Zabini, of course.

> Couples coordination, three ways:

> 1\. Identical Clothing

> On Wednesday night, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter wore identical pale gold robes to dinner at the Collective Building. Even their boots (gold), matched!

> 2\. Differing colours, matching pieces

> On Friday night, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter wore identical B. Zabini robes in cream-and-gold and green-and-white respectively to the War Orphans charity auction. Dashing!

> 3\. Matching colours, differing pieces

> On Saturday afternoon, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter wore matching colours on their outing to Muggle London. Draco Malfoy wore a muggle-styled long coat in stone wash, blue shirt, black trousers and tan boots. Harry Potter wore a muggle-styled tone coach coat, black shirt, tan chinos and blue hi tops. The perfect combination of formal and causal!

:::

Blaise waved the _Warlock_ newspaper in Harry’s face. “How does it feel be fashionable enough to appear in the papers?” he asked.

Harry sorted. “Really weird. But do you know what was even weirder? All the random muggles complimenting us on the street.”

“They know style when they see it,” Blaise crowed. He looked at the paper again. “You two look so great together.” His eyes lit up. “Of course! A _couples_ fashion show!”

Harry let him dash off and turned to Draco, who was doing some heavy reading. He studied Draco’s profile idly, and smiled when Draco glanced at him distractedly.

Harry admired the wizard Draco had become, and despite the dates, despite the nights they spent together, he felt as though there was so much more yet to learn about Draco Malfoy. And Harry wanted to know more, and he knew there was all the time in the world for that. And if he ever ran out of things to learn—then they’d make new experiences.

But for now, Harry settled back and pulled out his own heavy reading.

:::

:::

:::

:::

:::

:::

_December, Winter Ball. Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire._

Draco wandered around the Manor ground floor, where the Winter Ball sprawled out. It was everything, and more, than the plans his mother had told him. Narcissa was at the front, receiving the numerous guests, and there was already light refreshments circling around.

Draco turned when a familiar arm caught him round the waist. “Harry, you’re ruining the line of my robes,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

“Sorry,” Harry said, no sound of contrition in his voice. He pressed a kiss into the side of Draco’s face; Draco retaliated by running his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry arched into the touch. “How was this morning? Was your father…?”

Draco smiled wryly and nodded. After the months of lobbying the Ministry and bringing in the law of basic being rights upon them, Azkaban was finally starting to see more improvements, one of which was an allowance for visits by families and friends.

“The moment he saw my mother, he seemed more _there_ ,” Draco said. “She told him about what we were doing. And from her, he seemed to take it well enough.”

Lucius had told Narcissa how much he loved her. And he had told Draco how much he loved him, and how he would do anything to protect them. But he hadn’t cared much for what Draco had done.

Harry looked into his eyes and smiled. “Well, _I’m_ proud of you. Now, take me to the dance floor before I chicken out and let all your dancing lessons go to waste.”

“Very well.”

Draco took his hand and led him to the ball room. As they stepped into the center, the live band started playing something proper, and in their matching robes—silver for Draco, green for Harry—they swirled across the dance floor.

Malfoy Manor was a bright and vibrant place.

The traces of the War were still there, in their solemnity of remembered history. However, overwhelming, its inhabitants had made it their own.

Life and magic and experience of all different types soaked into the stones, and wide windows and hefty lighting and heating charms kept the Manor warm and welcoming regardless of the grey British weather. Those who lived there, and those who visited existed in an everyday harmony of friendships and fickle fighting.

Everyone had their own life story, everyone had their own goals, however they defined them, and Draco endeavoured to listen to them, for he met more and more people each day, and they listened as he told them his own story.

And when Draco took a mental look back to what he had done, he realised that he had done it. He had made his own mark on the world. Moreover, all those around him made their own mark on the world, and when those marks aligned, the world changed.

:::

_The End._

:::

:::

:::

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was writing this, I was thinking about how certain problems in society and the environment already have known solutions—but these solutions aren’t implemented due to a host of reasons, such as insufficient political will, antagonistic self interest, lack of funds etc. Here, Draco has sufficient funds and goes ahead to implement some of these solutions.
> 
> Changes in the world start with the individual; but at the same time, the biggest changes are those done by large organisations, governments and corporations—which are in turn made up of individual people. I hope all of these different facets were clearly represented in this story.
> 
> For some more stories similar to this, or have similar elements, see (for example):
> 
> [Consequences of the Untold by XxTheDarkLordxX](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15210026)
> 
> [Draco Malfoy, King of the House Elves by Dolimir](https://archiveofourown.org/works/287633)
> 
> [The Pure and Simple Truth by lettered](https://archiveofourown.org/works/392764/chapters/645041)
> 
> [Dear Enemy by GingerTodgers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7447762/chapters/16922026)


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